


Kindred

by Mistress_of_Squirrels



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Psychological Torture, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:46:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 71,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6057175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_Squirrels/pseuds/Mistress_of_Squirrels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sole survivor Ying-hua is more shaken by the Pickman gallery than she wants to admit. But Pickman is dead now, killed by her own hand, and she can put the whole thing out of her mind. Until someone starts sending her strange gifts and cryptic letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a romance between the sole survivor and Pickman. I just want to make that clear. Also, this story will be dark and deals with sensitive subject matter. I've done my best to research and present such matters with the respect and care they deserve, and I will post trigger warnings before each chapter as the need arises. 
> 
> If you see something that could be improved, please let me know. I'm always open to feedback, and comments/kudos make my day.

Beads of sweat dotted her brow, stinging her eyes as Ying-hua staggered beneath the sudden, limp weight of a man twice her size. Panting, she moved aside, letting him fall and then planted her boot firmly on his chest for leverage as she yanked her knife from where she'd buried it beneath his sternum. She shook the blood from the blade in a shower of crimson droplets, dark eyes fixed on the man walking towards her.

Pickman.

His stride was casual, his smile warm, as though he were greeting an old friend instead of the stranger that had just cut her way through a dozen or so seasoned raiders that were ready to rip him apart.

“Whew!” Pickman blew out a relieved breath. “That was close. Thank you.” His blue eyes twinkled as he offered another boyish grin.

The german shepherd at her side gave a low growl, teeth bared in warning, and Ying ran her fingers through the fur of Dogmeat's scruff to quiet him. She felt sick to her stomach. Raiders were brutal bastards, but what she had seen and heard in the gallery went beyond even that. Torture and dismemberment, all for the sake of his twisted vision of art. By all rights, the man standing before her was a monster, and yet he was thanking her, as polite as if he were discussing the weather. The wrongness of it made her skin crawl.

“They were dead regardless,” Ying said coldly, locking her shoulders to hold back a shiver of disgust. “This wasn't for you.”

“Even so,” Pickman acknowledged pleasantly. “Those men were no better than animals. They deserved worse than death.”

“And you don't?” Ying scoffed.

“I provide a service,” Pickman corrected. “By doing what I love, I'm ridding the world of murderers and rapists, parasites that feed and feed, leaving nothing in their wake but ruin and destruction.”

Ying liked to think she kept an open mind, but she was fast approaching her limit for 'weird'. Pickman rattled her, in a way that few things in life ever did/ She hated the feeling and despised him for making her feel it. “You're a fucking psycho,”she spat, more than ready to end this conversation. “No one deserves that kind of shit.”

Pickman's smile turned condescending as he regarded the small woman with the same sort of fond amusement teachers reserved for a favorite, if particularly stubborn, pupil. “No one? Do you honestly believe that?”

“No one,” Ying repeated through clenched teeth. She waved a hand in irritation toward the corpses of the raiders. “You deserve the same as any of them.”

As though she had said something truly delightful, Pickman laughed, the sound grating her already frayed nerves. “So sayeth one born killer to another.”

“I'm nothing like you!”

Pickman only hummed, mouth quirked in that infuriating smile. “In any case, allow me to show my gratitude.”

Ying narrowed her eyes as he held out a key to her and crossed her arms over her chest, still tightly gripping her combat knife.. “Fuck your gratitude. I already said this wasn't any kind of favor for you.”

The smile faded.

“Ah,” Pickman sighed, expression crestfallen. “That's...disappointing. Regardless, I pay my debts.” He laid the key on top of a wooden crate. “In case you change your mind about my gift. ”

“Unlikely.”

“Then I'll be on my way.”

The warmth in his voice evaporated, and his expression reminded Ying of a child on the verge of a tantrum. She took a step forward, slowly shaking her head. “You're not leaving here,” she said, her voice low and hard.

Pickman held out his empty hands, palms up. “You'd kill an unarmed man?” he chuckled. “And you say we're nothing alike.”

That smile was back, taunting now, and Ying wanted nothing more in that moment than to smash her fist into his teeth. Before the thought of doing so had fully formed, she lunged, the blade of her knife sinking deep into the yielding flesh of his abdomen. Pickman's eyes widened, something wounded flashing in their depths as his mouth fell open in a pained gasp.

“We are nothing alike,” she hissed, bringing her mouth close to his ear. “Nothing.”

Ying wiped the blade clean on the leg of her jeans, watching with dispassioned eyes as Pickman slowly sank to the ground. With a sharp whistle to call Dogmeat to her, she turned on her heel and stalked away, angrily swatting the key he'd left for her off the crate. She didn't see where it landed, and she didn't care. The job was done, and she'd had her fill of this place a while ago. She didn't even take the time to loot the fallen raiders on her way out. They could keep their shit this time, for all the good it would do them now.

Killing a man who hadn't attacked her first wasn't normally how she did things, and it nagged at her the entire way to Goodneighbor. Pickman wasn't just any man, though. He was dangerous and cruel, and he loved it; he'd said as much, face shining with pride as he did.

She didn't like raiders any more than the next person, and she had no problem taking them out of the picture, but skinning them alive? That kind of shit wasn't necessary. Pickman was a rabid dog that needed to be put down; she'd done the right thing.

A familiar neon sign came into view, and already feeling calmer, Ying pushed all thoughts of Pickman to the back of her mind.

She'd been staying in Goodneighbor for a few weeks now, and she'd developed a growing fondness for the little town. In truth, there was no where else she'd rather be. It didn't have the best reputation, and Ying had to admit that most of the things people said had been fairly earned, but the people had a raw honesty to them that she found refreshing. They didn't whisper behind their hands when she walked by like her old neighbors had. Here, if someone had something to say, they said it - sometimes illustrating their point with the blade of a knife – but at least everyone knew where they stood.

Ying traced a finger along the gnarled lines of scar tissue that slashed across each cheek and branched to twist and curl around the contours of her face. In her time, she'd been considered horribly disfigured, and that was in addition to her Chinese heritage. The women in Sanctuary Hills had never let her forget either one. Their false concern and simpering smiles did nothing to hide the suspicion in their eyes, and Ying had grown accustomed to stares and abrupt silence whenever she passed them.

Now, it was rare to see someone who didn't have at least a few scars, and most people didn't know what the word 'Chinese' even meant, or why they should care. Home to one of the largest ghoul populations in the Commonwealth, Goodneighbor didn't pay much attention to how a person looked. She could appreciate that, even if it had been a long time since she let something as petty as her appearance get to her.

As she stepped through the gate, one of nearby shop owners, Daisy, looked over and waved. Ying returned the gesture, heading toward the little store.

When she'd first arrived, with nothing but her knife and the clothes on her back, Daisy had taken pity on her, allowing her to help out around the shop in exchange for a few caps. They'd formed an easy friendship, bonding over discussions of their memories of the world before the bombs.

“Daisy,” Ying greeted, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the counter. “How've you been?”

“Doin' just fine,Ying,” the ghoul woman replied with a smile. She set aside a box of various food items she'd been sorting and took a battered bowl and a can of purified water from a shelf behind her, emptying the water into the bowl. “Got anything for me today?” she asked as she set the bowl down in front of Dogmeat and gave the animal a fond pat on the head. “Or are you just back for the view?”

Ying winked at the storeowner. “I'm always here for the view, Daisy.”

Daisy laughed. “Like hell you are. You got anything to trade or not?”

Ying shook her head. “Not this time, sorry.”

“I hear the mayor's been waitin' on you to get back,” the ghoul remarked, returning to her sorting.

“It's only been two days since he gave me the job” Ying snorted, rolling her eyes. “He must think I'm incompetent.”

“Oh, bullshit. If he thought that, he never would have sent you. I heard some talk from a caravan guard not too long ago. Said he heard all kinds of strange noises coming from out there, but the place was still as a grave. The mayor's right to be concerned.”

“Well, it's nothing to be worried about now,” Ying said with a shrug. “All taken care of.”

She really didn't want to talk about the gallery right now. Part of her reason for stopping off at Daisy's instead of going directly to Hancock had been an attempt to avoid discussing that very thing. It also served as a subtle reminder that while he might be in charge here, Ying did things on her own terms. Hancock had never flaunted his authority, but his body-guard, Fahrenheit, had an annoying habit of referring to her as a pawn.

Daisy gave her a pointed look, and Ying wondered if anything got by those dark, clouded eyes. “Seems like you should be informin' Hancock of that, shouldn't you?”

“I'm going, Daisy, no need to get pushy,” the smaller woman grumbled.

“You need a push now and then. Go on, I've got work to finish.” She looked over at Dogmeat, who was laying beside the counter, head on his paws. “You can leave him here, if you want.”

“Fine, fine,” Ying sighed. “Be good, boy.” She pushed off from the counter, and paused, turning back to Daisy. “Talk later?”

“You know where to find me,” the ghoul waved her off.  
  
Ying had taken a few steps towards the state house when Daisy called after her, “And eat something while you're at it! At your age, dinner doesn't come in a bottle.”

Without turning around, Ying waved at the ghoul woman over her shoulder as she continued to the state house.

“Hancock's waiting for you,” one of the Watch said as she stepped inside. “Go on up”

The woman snorted and started up the stairs. “So I hear.”

Though she liked to smart off, see just how much he'd let her get away with, Ying had nothing against the mayor. They'd spoken quite a few times since she arrived, and she genuinely liked him. He was laid back, more than a match for her sass, and he'd been nothing but kind since she arrived. As long as she didn't do anything stupid like that idiot Finn, he was easy to get along with.

The only problem was that he was the _mayor_ , and she held a deep mistrust for those that held positions of power. She'd seen power abused more often than she cared to think about, but so far he'd defied her every expectation of someone in authority.

When she got to the mayor's office, Hancock was lounging on one of the couches, Fahrenheit seated across from him. When he saw Ying, he waved her over, a grin spreading across his face. “My little scout returns. Come in, have a seat.”

Fahrenheit stood to leave, her gaze cool as she passed by on her way out. Ying smirked at the tall redhead, returning her stare as she dropped down onto the couch in front of Hancock.

The mayor wasted no time in getting down to business. “So, what'd you find out?”

“It's an art gallery...” Ying began, running a hand through her dark mohawk. Now that she was thinking about it again, Pickman's words rang through her head.

_And you say we're nothing alike._

“No kiddin',” Hancock deadpanned, and Ying realized she she'd never actually finished her statement.

Frustrated at being caught drifting, she rolled her eyes and continued, “Pickman was a serial killer that was taking raiders and using them in his...art. Really sick shit. Maiming, torture, that kind of thing.”

“Seriously?” the mayor asked, ghoulish features twisted in disgust. “I got no love for raiders, but fuck...that's messed up. I'll make sure word gets out to avoid that place. Don't need any of mine ending up as part of the décor.”

“ _Was_. Past tense. He's not going to be a problem anymore, I made sure of that.”

“Yeah?” Hancock grinned. “I'm impressed. All you had to do was find out what was goin' on over there.”

Ying shrugged, uneasy with being complimented for killing an unarmed man. “I wasn't letting someone like that walk out of there.”

The mayor nodded in approval. “Smart.” He got up, rummaging around in his desk for something. When he returned, he held out a small sack to her. “Four hundred caps. Much appreciated, sister.”

“Four hundred?” Ying asked in confusion. “We agreed on half that.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I knew you were gonna take care of the guy. I'd have just had to pay someone else to take him out anyway, so it's yours.”

Ying accepted the money, stuffing it in a pocket of her coat. “Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem.”

Wearily, Ying got to her feet. She was tired, but after recent events, knew it would be pointless to try to sleep just yet. “I need a drink,” she sighed.

Hancock lit a cigarette and grinned, plumes of smoke curling from his mouth. “I can recommend an excellent bar. Best establishment in town.”

“You also happen to own the place,” she retorted. “Your recommendation is biased.”

“Doesn't make it any less true.”

It didn't. Ying had become something of a regular at the Third Rail, and Hancock knew it, but she wasn't about to concede her point.

“Bye, Hancock,” she said with a smirk.

“See ya around, sister.”

There were only a handful of patrons in the Rail, but it was still early. Ying sauntered to over to the bar and took a seat. The Mr. Handy that served as the Rail's bar tender hovered in front of her.

“If you're not buyin', - oh,” he said as he recognized her. “It's you. What'll it be, guv?”

“I'm not feeling picky, Charlie,” she said, waving a hand. “Just make it strong, and leave the bottle.”

“Lookin' to get pissed good and proper, eh? Don't go starting any fights this time around.”

“That was one time,” she protested as the bot set a bottle of vodka and a glass in front of her. Ying poured herself a generous amount and took a sip, enjoying the way the alcohol burned the back of her nose.

“That was just last week,” Charlie corrected. “There were two the week before that.”

“Those shouldn't count. They were more like...scuffles,” Ying muttered. “And people should learn to keep their hands to themselves.”

“Look, you got a problem, take it outside next time. Gettin' blood out of these floors is a pain in the arse.”

Before she could respond, another patron came up to the bar, and Charlie drifted away. Ying drained her glass and poured another, then searched her pocket for her cigarettes. Pulling one from the pack, she lit it and exhaled, sighing at the small rush of nicotine. They tasted like shit now, but she supposed after two hundred and some odd years that was to be expected, and stale cigarettes were the least of her worries. She tried to relax, let the music wash over her, but instead of Magnolia's smokey voice, all she could hear in her mind was Pickman. And that pissed her off.

He was sick, some twisted psycho, and while she knew that she had a bucket load of issues herself, it was hardly the same thing. She'd killed, yes, but not many people nowadays could say they hadn't. She loved a good fight, but it wasn't the act of taking a life that gave her a thrill, it was pushing her body to the limit, the challenge of outwitting her opponent, the rush of adrenaline. It wasn't even in the same ballpark as flaying people alive or painting with their entrails.

_So sayeth one born killer to another._

“Bullshit,” Ying muttered, tossing back another drink.

She didn't bother refilling the glass again, instead taking a swig directly from the bottle. She'd paid for it, she could do as she pleased. The buzz from the alcohol seemed to hum in her veins, making her face warm and her head light. And it was still nowhere near enough to purge that asshole from her thoughts. She just needed something a little stronger to banish that fucker once and for all.

She fumbled in pocket again until her fingers closed around an inhaler of jet. Bringing it to her lips, she depressed the canister, inhaling deeply as the cool, metallic mist hit the back of her throat. The effect was near instantaneous as time slowed to a crawl. Her eyes took in everything, every flicker of the lights, the way shadows danced dimly across the walls, every minute detail of the scarred surface of the bar. Sounds became distorted, deepening in pitch and lengthening until a single word seemed to go on for minutes at a time. She dropped her hand to rest in her lap, fingers still wrapped loosely around the inhaler, and tipped her head back, closing her eyes as she rode the high.

It was over all too soon, and as the waves receded, they left in their wake the image of clear blue eyes, brimming with betrayal.

Ying clenched her fist until her nails bit into her palm and snarled. “Fuck. Me.”

“Probably not the best thing to go sayin' around here, doll,” said a familiar rough voice behind her. “Unless that was a genuine request?”

Shaking her head, Ying glanced over as Hancock slid into the seat next to hers. The mayor grinned, coal black eyes sweeping over her form before he rolled one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Worth a shot.”

Ying snorted and raised the bottle of vodka to her lips, taking several long pulls. “I'd be terrible company right now anyway,” she sighed, offering the bottle to the mayor.

Hancock looked surprised for a moment, but the expression was so fleeting she couldn't be sure she'd actually seen it. He took the bottle from her and took a drink, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Handing the bottle back, he looked at her, any trace of humor gone from his dark eyes. “Somethin' weighin' on ya?”

“Pickman,” Ying replied without thinking.

“Ah,” the ghoul nodded in understanding. “That was some dark shit you told me about, even for this town. If you need to get it off your chest, just lay it on me.”

She didn't want to talk about it, but she'd already opened her mouth and this really wasn't the kind of thing that could just be laughed off.

“He didn't fight,” Ying said quietly, picking at a splinter of wood on the bar. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, and all at once, it hit her: for all her attempts to rationalize it as something else, she'd murdered a man. It left her feeling queasy. Letting out a heavy sigh, she admitted, “He wasn't even armed, and I just...killed him.”

“Hey, sometimes you gotta just murder a guy,” Hancock said. “The kind of shit he was doin'? Raider or not, that's just uncalled for. Don't feel guilty for takin' someone like that out.”

“It's not guilt. Not exactly.”

And it wasn't. She felt no guilt over Pickman's death. And she wasn't one to pass up the opportunity to get the drop on her enemies if she could, so it wasn't like she was against taking the first shot. But an unarmed man who posed no direct threat to her? There was something deeply unsettling about that, and his insistence that they were the same made it worse.

“I don't know how to explain it,” Ying said at last. “There's a line, you know? And I like my lines to be nice and clean. They start getting blurred and it's harder to tell what side I'm on.”

“Hey, you did Goodneighbor a favor, doll. That's what side you're on. Even if that bastard stuck with torturing raiders, shit like that has a way of spillin' over, and as close as our little town is to that place? There's no doubt we'd have been caught in the mess.”

Ying nodded slowly. She wasn't entirely convinced, but she did feel some of the tightness in her chest ease. “Thanks, Hancock.”

“Anytime, sister.”

Scrubbing a hand over her eyes, Ying looked around blearily and sighed. “I think I should sleep now,” she said, pushing herself off the bar stool. The room spun, and she had to grab onto the stool in order to stay upright.

Hancock laughed, quickly standing and taking her by the arm. “Whoa there, slow down. You've got a room at the Rexford, right? C'mon, I'll walk you.”

“I'm fine,” she muttered. She was not a tall woman, the top of her head just reaching the middle of his chest, and this close, she had to crane her neck back to glare up at the mayor. It was annoying. “I've only had...oh,” she trailed off as she squinted at the bottle. She didn't remember it being quite so empty.

“Two thirds of a bottle,” Hancock finished for her. “Though where the hell you put it all is anyone's guess. C'mon, it's not far.”

Ying grumbled, but didn't resist as the mayor looped an arm around her and led her up the stairs. Halfway to the Rexford, she'd given up trying to keep any kind of respectable distance between them and was leaning into his side. Binges were nothing new for her, and she was certain she could have made it on her own, but something about the ghoul taking the time to make sure she got there himself made her stomach flutter.

And that alone probably proved that she was worse off than she thought.

Hancock led her to the door of her room, and smirked down at her. “Think you can take it from here?”

“Go on, asshole,” Ying mumbled, pushing his arm away as she staggered through the door. “Oh yeah,” she added as an afterthought. “Thanks, for...” she waved a hand in vague manner meant to encompass the entire room.

“See ya around, Ying.”

As his footsteps faded down the hall, Ying flopped face first onto the bed, not even bothering to undress. She was asleep in a matter of minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos!
> 
> No major warnings for this chapter aside from some violence and Ying's filthy mouth.

In hindsight, Ying probably should have realized that accepting a job from a stranger in a dark alley was just the sort of thing that was bound to come back and bite her in the ass.

It wasn't as though she'd never heard of Bobbi No- Nose, or the ghoul woman's reputation for scheming. Ying knew all of that and still took the job. It wasn't even for the caps, if she was being honest with herself. Money was a necessary evil as far as she was concerned, and while she could always use more, profit alone wasn't enough to motivate her. No, her reasons had been idle curiosity, and an inability to resist the temptation to go looking for trouble - especially when she found out Bobbi's intended target was the mayor of Diamond City.

She didn't care about the Diamond City strongroom, but she had a vested interest in making the mayor's life difficult. If that involved Bobbi robbing the man blind, so be it. McDonough had it coming, and Ying wanted to be a part of it, even if it there was more going on than the other woman admitted to.

Bobbi thought she was just some gullible kid looking for easy caps. It irked her, but she went along with it. She knew she was being manipulated; knew the ghoul woman was withholding information from her, and Ying exacted petty revenge by doing everything in her power to irritate her employer. She haggled over her pay, curious to see just how deep Bobbi's pockets went, and then haggled some more, citing undisclosed risks. She prodded for details at every turn, despite being warned not to ask questions. Once she discovered Mel had history with the other woman, she started making small talk with him, probing for whatever details he would divulge.

Most people would have fired her by now, if not worse. Bobbi made threats, and Ying still couldn't rule out the possibility of the ghoul trying to put a bullet in her back when this was all done, but she never suggested Ying take a walk. The ghoul needed her, then, and it was at that point she began to suspect that it wasn't McDonough they were going after.

Too many people in Goodneighbor held a grudge against the man. Bobbi should have had people lining up for the job, people she knew and could trust, like Mel. Instead, she'd chosen her. When they finally made it to the strongroom, she understood why.

On a catwalk that ran the width of the old train depot, Fahrenheit and two guards were waiting, armed to the teeth, and not at all pleased to see them. Ying had been in Goodneighbor long enough to know that if the redhead was here, Hancock was involved.

“What the fuck, Bobbi?” Ying hissed as the pieces fell into place. “It's _Hancock_ you're robbing?”

“Damn it, Bobbi,” Mel groaned. “That guy tends to hold grudges.”

Fahrenheit tilted her head, lips quirked in amusement. “The two of you didn't know? Nice, No-Nose.”

“Listen guys, it doesn't matter,” Bobbi argued in an attempt to salvage the situation. “It's still the same job, and there's still a ton of caps to be made here. We take her out and it's all ours.”

“Or,” Fahrenheit spoke up, casually leaning against a stack of wooden boxes. “You turn around, go back into your tunnel, and we can pretend this never happened.”

“I'm not screwing over Hancock,” Ying said firmly. “We've got the chance to walk away. Take it.”

“Everyone's either in love with him, or afraid of him,” Bobbi said in disgust. “Should've known you wouldn't be any different. I've come too far too run away now,” the ghoul added, giving Ying a long, measuring look. “Seems like you've made your choice. And if you're not with me, you're against me.”

As Bobbi brought her gun up, Ying twisted away from the other woman, ducking down behind a stack of cargo crates. Bullets whizzed by on either side, some striking the crates with a metallic ping. Gritting her teeth, Ying pulled her knife from her belt and waited for the barrage to stop. There was a reason for the old adage that warned against bringing a knife to a gun fight, and it was times like this that she lamented her inexperience with the weapons.

She'd been pinned down before, and normally relied on her supply of scavenged explosives to see her through, but she had nothing like that with her now. Setting off even more explosions in a homemade tunnel had seemed a bad idea at the time, and there was no point weighing herself down with equipment she wasn't going to use.

There was a pause in the gunfire, and Ying peeked her head out from behind the stack. Bobbi was no where to be seen. Fahreneheit was still standing on the catwalk, but the bodyguard appeared to be taking a spectator role in this encounter. Ying couldn't really blame her, She'd gotten herself into this mess; it was up to her to get out.

Knife held close, she edged around the crates, trying to judge the distance to the closest train car. When there was no answering hail of bullets, Ying sprinted for the cars, darting behind them just as Bobbi opened fire. It didn't last nearly as long this time; she was conserving her ammo.

Ying crept alongside the cars, peeking between them in an effort to gauge Bobbi's location. The ghoul had to know she'd already lost. Even if Bobbi managed to kill her, even if Fahrenheit let her walk out of here, the job was a bust. The only thing she had to gain was taking Ying down with her, giving her that much more incentive to try. The ghoul woman knew how she fought by now, and she had the upper hand. And she'd already outsmarted her once. Ying's lip curled in a sneer. There wouldn't be a second time.

Spotting a narrow ladder on the side of one of the cars, Ying tucked her knife in her belt and began climbing, taking care to avoid making noise. She crouched down on top of the car, scanning the ground below. With no need for cover, Bobbi was walking out in the open, head turning slowly from side to side as she searched for her. Ying stayed low, creeping to the edge of the car and waited for the woman to walk near her. As she'd hoped, Bobbi didn't look up. When the ghoul was in range, Ying spread her arms and jumped.

She tumbled into the other woman, Bobbi letting out a surprised shout as she was knocked prone. The gun flew from her hands, clattering to the ground and coming to a stop a few feet away. As Bobbi struggled to rise, Ying managed to wrap one arm and her legs around her. She was reaching for her knife with her free hand when the ghoul snapped her head back, catching Ying directly in the face. There was a sickening crunch and then bright, blinding pain.

Eyes and nose streaming, her grip loosened until Bobbi was able to throw her off. Dazed, Ying panted, finding it difficult to breath through the blood filling her mouth and nose. She turned and spat a mouthful of crimson on the ground, nearly gagging as her mouth seemed to instantly fill again.

“You little bitch!” the ghoul woman spat, grabbing a fistful of her shirt and leaning over her. “I could have had it made. But you went and ruined everything! You're going to pay for that.”

Struggling to see through her watering eyes, Ying wiped at the mess on her face. She could just make out the shape of the other woman as she stepped around her to retrieve the fallen gun. She kicked out hard, catching Bobbi in the side of the knee. With a pained cry, the ghoul crumpled to the ground. Knowing she likely only had one chance, Ying drew her knife and scrambled to her feet, bringing the blade up in front of her as Bobbi sprung. The woman grunted, staggering back a step as she looked down at the wound in her chest.

“That's not how this was supposed to happen,” she gasped, the breath sounding wet.

“You had your chance to walk away. I told you take it,” Ying replied thickly.

The ghoul collapsed, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, eyes dull and already glazing. Not even a stimpack would help her now.

Ying turned away, oddly uncomfortable with the sight of the dying woman. She saw Mel watching her with wide eyes.

“Did you have to do that?” he asked.

“She attacked me,” Ying replied coldly. “We all could have just walked out of here, but she wouldn't have it.”

“I -I know, I just-”

“Just get out of here, Mel,” Ying sighed.

“Yeah. I probably need to disappear for a while.”

She nodded once, walking past him to find Fahrenheit.

She had to hand it to Bobbi, she mused, trying to ignore the way her face throbbed. The woman was tough, and she knew how to hand out an ass kicking. Ying probed a cut in her bottom lip with her tongue and knew there was a similar gash across the bridge of her nose. It was probably broken, too; she’d have to set it soon.

As much as she hated it, she had to admit to a grudging respect for the ghoul. There was no doubt that she’d played her, and then came uncomfortably close to killing her after. Just not close enough.

“You made the right choice,” Fahrenheit said when Ying joined her on the catwalk.

“If I’d known it was Hancock we were after, I never would have signed up.”

It was the truth, Ying knew, but it felt like an excuse.

“You didn’t know what you were doing,” the bodyguard shrugged. “He’ll understand.”

Ying held in a groan. That made it sound so much worse. She wasn’t some innocent child led astray. She’d agreed to the job with every intent of fucking someone over. The only difference was that Bobbi had a different mayor in mind, and neglected to let her in on that little detail.

Fahrenheit continued, “Hancock will be happy to hear of your loyalty.”

“Yeah,” Ying sighed. “I’ll talk to him, try to clear this up.”

“Good idea.” Fahrenheit paused, studying her through narrowed eyes. “Bobbi wasn’t wrong, you know. About Hancock. People either love him or they’re afraid of him. With good reason.”

“If that’s your way of asking which category I fall into, it’s neither,” Ying replied, meeting the redhead’s gaze. “It’s about principle. He was kind to me. I don’t repay that with a knife in the back.”

Fahrenheit’s lips twitched. “Whatever your reasons, it’s best to stay on Hancock’s good side. You should go,” she said, nodding toward the exit. “Pay your respects in person.”

Ying bristled at what was clearly a dismissal, but supposed she couldn’t really fault the other woman. She wasn’t exactly the injured party here, and all things considered, Fahrenheit had been rather amiable about her part in all of this.

Back in Goodneighbor, Ying was surprised to find a scowling Daisy waiting for her. Pitch black eyes widened as they took in the sight of her, bloodied and bruising, and then Daisy gave a sharp shake of her head, tugging on Ying’s arm as she led her to the shop.

“What the hell were you thinking, getting tangled up with Bobbi like that?” the ghoul asked crossly, wetting a cloth with clean water and handing it to her. She turned and took a stack of clothing down from a high shelf and started going through it, holding up different items in an effort to gauge Ying’s size.

Ying dabbed at her split lip, hissing as even that slight pressure was enough to open the wound again. “She said she had work,” she shrugged, pressing the cloth to her mouth to stem the fresh bleeding.

“There’s plenty of other work around here,” Daisy chided. “Work that won’t get you killed.”

“Not exactly dead here,” Ying felt compelled to point out. “I still have all my limbs attached and everything.”

Daisy gave her a withering glare. “Yeah, and if you want to stay that way, crossing Hancock isn’t how to do it. And don’t bother telling me you didn’t know,” the ghoul woman added when Ying started to protest. “I already heard. Lucky for you, the mayor’s got a soft spot for the young and foolish. Most people wouldn’t accept ignorance as an excuse.”

“So everyone knows already?” Ying groaned. “I’m never going to live this down.”

“Not everyone. Word gets around, though, and someone trying to pull one over on Hancock is big news. But that should be the least of your worries. Here.” Daisy tossed her a plain t-shirt and a pair of jeans. “The pants look a little big, but they’re clean. Well, as clean as it gets now, anyway.”

“Thanks, Daisy. I owe you one.”

“Oh, you most certainly do, honey, but we’ll talk about that later. Right now, you need to go make this right.”

Sighing, Ying quickly changed into the clothing Daisy provided. She was right; the pants were too big. She had to constantly tug them up to keep them from sliding down her hips, and the hems had a good three or so inches that needed to be rolled so she wasn’t walking on them.

Daisy disappeared upstairs for a few minutes, wordlessly handing her a belt when she returned. The old ghoul’s mothering was tiresome at times, but deep down, it meant a lot to her to know that someone cared. Ying’s only memories of her own mother were of when she had died, tainted by blood and the pain of a child too young to fully understand what had happened. She briefly wondered if her mother would have been like Daisy, had life gone differently, and then decided it didn’t matter. It was enough to deal with what was right in front of; there was no point dwelling on what-ifs.

“Well?” Ying asked, arms held out. “How do I look?”

Daisy gave her a once over. “Like shit. And that’s coming from _me_. Here,” she said, thrusting a small mirror into Ying’s hands.

The small oval of glass was clouded and there was a crack running through the top half, but Ying could see that the ghoul hadn’t been exaggerating. She did look like shit. Her nose, normally flat, now had a prominent bump and the bridge was noticeably crooked, splotched with the deep purple of fresh bruises. Both eyes were already blackening and her bottom lip was puffy from swelling. Ying fingered the tiny silver ring that ran through her septum, and checked the others in her eyebrow and lip, grateful to find that all appeared intact and nothing had been torn loose. It made little sense to keep the jewelry in, especially considering how often she found herself in scraps these days, but she liked it, so it stayed.

Sighing, Ying handed the mirror back to Daisy. “I need to fix this,” she said, indicating her broken nose. “If I wait much longer I won’t be able to.”

“Hold still,” Daisy commanded. The ghoul placed her hands on either side of Ying’s face, and with a quick, firm motion, shoved the displaced cartilage back into position.

“Fuck!” Ying shouted, eyes watering furiously as one hand cupped her nose. “A little bit of warning would have been nice.”

“What did you think I was going to do?” Daisy laughed. “Give you a kiss?”

“I didn’t even know you knew how to do that,” she muttered irritably, glaring at the ghoul as she gently pressed her fingers along her nose.

“This is Goodneighbor. Broken noses are pretty common. Assumin’ you have one to break, of course.” She cast a critical eye over the younger woman and shook her head. “Well, at least you aren’t covered in blood anymore. Now, I think you got some apologies to make, don’t you? Best get to it.”

Ying nodded. “Let me know what I owe you for the clothes.”

“You can start by staying out of trouble. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

Thanking Daisy, Ying left the shop and headed for the state house, trying to ignore the feelings of anxiety that had begun to creep over her, unsure of where they were even coming from. Her earlier words to Fahrenheit had not been bravado: she really wasn’t afraid of the mayor. He was dangerous, to be sure; she’d gotten a lesson in that the first time she ever set foot in Goodneighbor. But she’d been in town enough time to see that he genuinely cared about his people, and shanking someone in the street probably wasn’t something he’d done on a whim.

She trusted him, she realized, thoughts slipping back to that night at the Third Rail, and his insistence on walking her to her room. Even stabbing Finn was about protecting her, at least in part. She had no doubt Hancock was making a point and using the confrontation with the other man as an example, but in spite of that, it never occurred to her that she might serve as the next. He wouldn’t retaliate physically, she was nearly certain of that, so her sudden attack of nerves was silly.

That rationalization provided little comfort. She’d still been outwitted, and there was nothing Ying despised more than feeling stupid. The thought of looking like a fool to Hancock left her vaguely ill, her stomach tied in knots. They couldn’t really be considered friends, unless it was in the most superficial sense of the word, but Ying thought the potential was there, and hated that she might have thrown that away because she lacked impulse control.

The guard stationed outside the mayor’s office flashed Ying a knowing grin when she arrived. “He’s in the back, doll,” he informed her, pointing to a room behind her.

Ying turned and sure enough, there in the far room was Hancock, casually leaning against the wall, black eyes gleaming like polished onyx as she walked up to him. “Well if it ain’t Bobbi’s little patsy,” he greeted, ruined lips curling into a smirk.

“That’s fair,” Ying sighed. She wasn’t going to grovel, but she was a grown woman, perfectly capable of admitting when she fucked up. And his word of choice was accurate, though admitting it, even to herself, had her grinding her teeth in embarrassed anger.

“Wise decision putting Bobbi down.”

“I take offense when people try to kill me,” Ying retorted, voice flat. “I’m sensitive like that.”

Hancock chuckled, shifting his weight to one leg and bringing the opposite knee up to rest his foot on the wall behind him. “Looks like she put up a pretty good fight.”

Before she could think better of it, Ying prodded along the bridge of her nose at the reminder, wincing as pain blossomed beneath her fingertips. “Yeah,” she agreed tersely. “I guess she wasn’t happy with my last minute resignation.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Here,” he said taking something out of his pocket and tossing it to her. “For protecting my stash.”

Ying caught the object and noticed it was a pouch very similar to the one she’d received after returning from the gallery. From the metallic clinking it made as she rolled it in her hand, she could tell that this one was also filled with caps. Puzzled, she stared at him.

“I just helped someone blow a giant fucking hole in the floor of your store room and you’re literally throwing caps at me?”

“Hey, you made the right choice in the end. And from what Fahrenheit says, it wasn’t me you were trying to rob anyway.”

“No,” Ying shook her head breathing out a sigh.“It wasn’t. Bobbi told me we were going after McDonough.”

“Did she now?” There was a hint of bitter amusement in the mayor’s dark eyes that gave Ying the feeling she was missing context, some private joke that she wasn’t in on, but he continued before she could give it much thought. “The mayor of Diamond City, though. That’ s some serious haul. If you could have pulled it off, that is. You know you guys weren’t exactly quiet.” He shot her a teasing grin.

“I was hired to dig and kill things,” Ying defended, holding her hands up to indicate she had no part of the actual planning. “It wasn’t about the loot.”

“Yeah...” How the ghoul managed to inject that level of doubt into a single word, Ying didn’t know, but the implication rankled.

“I don’t steal,” she said hotly. “Like I said, I was there to dig. Whatever Bobbi decided to do once we got there was on her. And it’s not like Mayor McDumbass doesn’t deserve it, anyway.”

Hancock’s lips moved as he silently repeated her title for the mayor before letting out a short laugh and shaking his head. “I won’t argue with that, but if this is another one of your ‘lines’ doll, it’s an awful thin one.”

Ying set her mouth in a stubborn frown. “Maybe so, but it’s there all the same.”

“Alright, I can respect that. But why sign on for a heist in the first place?”

She thought about evading the question, but there was genuine curiosity in the mayor’s gravelly voice instead of the judgment she expected, so she answered, “In the beginning, all I knew from Bobbi was that she wanted me to dig.” She gave an embarrassed shrug and continued, “I knew the whole thing seemed shady as hell, but well, I was bored and I really wanted to know what was going on, so I went along with it. Then she finally told me we were going after McDonough, and honestly, I’d have probably paid her for the chance to stay on.

“By the time I realized she was lying, I was in too deep. Heh.” Ying smirked at the unintended pun and then shook her head, getting back on track. “I didn’t figure out she was after you until I saw Fahrenheit waiting for us. And I’m sure you got a detailed report on the rest.”

Hancock lit a cigarette and nodded. “One of the perks of being in charge,” he agreed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “If somethin’ goes down inside these walls -or under ‘em -you can be sure I know about it.”

He held the crumpled pack of cigarettes out to her in silent offering and Ying took one and placed it between her lips, leaning forward to touch the end to the small flame he sparked from his flip lighter.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a long drag. “And I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Hey, this is Goodneighbor,” He waved a hand as though brushing the entire incident aside. “No hard feelings. I’m curious though: why the hate for McDonough?”

“I’m fairly certain the hate runs both ways,” Ying remarked. “I’m not even technically allowed inside Diamond City.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you from pickin’ up Bobbi’s friend. Yeah,” he smirked when she raised a brow in question. “I know he was in the Diamond City jail and that you got him loose somehow.”

Ying dipped her head in acknowledgment, not even bothering to feign surprise. “I have a bad habit of doing as I please.”

That earned her a laugh. “I noticed. Knew you’d fit in around here.”

She smiled at that, but the expression didn’t last long. She really didn’t want to get into this right now, but it was an innocent question, and she owed him for her part in Bobbi’s scheme.

“To answer your question, I ended up in Diamond City a couple of months ago. I was looking for... someone. Anyway, there was a guy there, trying to buy medicine. He had his face and hands covered, and one of the guards started giving him shit, trying to force him to take his wrappings off.

“The guard made a big scene, and someone eventually grabbed the other guy, and uncovered his face. He was like you,” she paused for another drag of her cigarette and made an awkward gesture toward his face.

“A ghoul.”

“Yeah,” Ying sighed, her face a grimace of distaste. “If that’s how you want to say it.”

“It’s what we’re called, doll.”

“And that doesn’t make it any less stupid. Ghouls are mythological, shape-shifting demons that lure unsuspecting travelers off the road in order to eat them.”

“Ever seen a feral? The term ain’t that far off.”

“Plenty of them. The _point_ ,” she stressed, voice sharp with irritation. “Is that people are people, and stupid words like that are just labels assholes slap on certain groups so they can feel justified in acting like assholes.

“That guy didn’t do anything wrong, and the entire fucking city was losing it’s shit just for him being there. And that’s pretty much a word for word recount of my response to that.

“So, to make a long story short, the mayor got involved, I may have told him to go fuck himself with the jagged end of a broken swatter -he really didn’t like that – and then he threw Mattie out on his ass and me with him. Mattie didn’t make it, I did, and here I am, breaking into the wrong strongroom.

“Hitting McDonough wasn’t going to change anything; I know that. But it sure as hell would have been fun to see someone get back at that asshole. Too bad Bobbi had other ideas,” she finished, angrily flicking the ash of her cigarette to the floor.

Hancock had a strange look on his face, his eyes distant. After a few long moments of silence, he seemed to snap out of it and sighed. “Yeah, that sounds like Diamond City. And it’s mayor.” He took one last hit from his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and grinding it out beneath the heel of his boot, He slumped against the wall, folding his arms in front of him. “This thing with Bobbi? It’s got me thinkin’. You guys pulled one hell of a job – almost got away with it, too. A few years ago, I’d have been proud to be in on somethin’ like that. Now, it seems like I spend all my time puttin’ people down for that very thing.

“I need to get out of here, take a walk again.”

“A walk? You mean leave town?” Ying asked. She cocked her head and peered up at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “Can you even do that? You’re the _mayor_.”

“And that doesn’t change, whether I’m ‘in residence’ or not. I’ve walked out of here plenty of times,” Hancock said with a shrug. “Helps me remember what bein’ in charge of Goodneighbor’s all about: living free.”

“Well, if you’re leaving anyway, you’re welcome to come with me. I’ve got shit I need to take care of and Dogmeat is terrible at making small talk.”

It couldn’t hurt to have another pair of eyes out there and they got along well enough, Ying reasoned. He seemed like he could handle himself, and judging by his encounter with Finn, shouldn’t be opposed to her more under-handed tactics, should the need for them arise.

“Alright, yeah” Hancock chuckled. “I like it. You might just be the right kind of trouble. Let me just have a little chat with my community and give them the news.”

“Take your time,” Ying said. “I’m not leaving for at least another day.”

“No big rush, eh?”

“I’ve spent the last several hours wading through mirelurks and ferals to get to your strongroom,”Ying smirked, wincing as the gesture once more opened her split lip. She touched a finger to the cut and sighed. “And my face hurts. Take your time,” she repeated.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Hancock laughed. “You know where to find me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts to get rather dark.  
> Warnings: Character death, mentions of drug use, descriptions of mental illness
> 
> Also gore and violence, and Ying's mouth. The latter should really just apply to all chapters.

  
As she slipped her arms into the sleeves of the black trench coat, Ying wondered if she should have put up more of a fight before agreeing to adopt the persona of a comic book superhero – or at least some fight. A minor objection, perhaps, just to show that she was at least aware that this was the kind of thing that used to get people fitted with fancy jackets and escorted to padded rooms. Even now, two hundred years later, it was earning her some odd looks, but Kent Connolly’s enthusiasm more than made up for those. Besides, she reasoned, tucking her hair beneath the matching fedora, the last time she’d tried to play by the rules of ‘normal’, the world had literally ended. The two were probably unrelated, but she saw no reason to take unnecessary chances.

In his own way, Kent truly wanted to help. He wanted to make the streets of Goodneighbor safer, and she had no problem with taking out a few lowlives to make that happen. He also wanted the Shroud to be a symbol of justice and hope for the people, a hero, and that had given her a few moments of hesitation. She knew she wasn’t a hero, but that was where the costume came in. All she had to do was play the part and convince everyone she was the Silver Shroud. How hard could that be?

It would be easier, she discovered, if the damned thing fit properly, but it had been designed for someone much taller and broader than Ying. Considering the character was male, that made sense, but appearing like a child playing dress up wasn’t doing anything for the Silver Shroud’s image.

“I look ridiculous,” Ying grumbled, rolling back the sleeves of the coat as she waited for Kent’s announcement over the radio. The pants were given the same treatment. Out of necessity, she kept her own boots rather than the loafers that went with the costume. There was no way she was going to go running around in oversized shoes.

Hancock glanced over, dark eyes roaming over the costume, a grin tugging at his ruined mouth. “I don’t exactly have room to be passin’ judgment on anyone’s fashion decisions,” he teased, long, gnarled fingers wrapping loosely around the edges of his frock coat. “But it looks alright from where I’m standing.”

“At least yours fits.”

“Hey, perfecting a look like this doesn’t happen overnight, sister. It takes dedication. Or, for you, really tall shoes,” he added, eying where the hem of her coat brushed the tops of her boots.

Feigning offense, Ying flipped him the one-fingered salute and then frowned. “I really hope that still means what I think it does.”

Hancock grinned, some smartass remark on the tip of his tongue, but the radio on Ying’s Pip-boy let out a hiss of static and then Kent’s excited voice came through.

“Calling all Silver Shroud fans for a once in a lifetime announcement. Everyone’s heard how Wayne Delancy m-murdered poor Miss Selmy and her kid, all for a few lousy caps. Well, the Silver Shroud’s returned, and he’s back to clean up the streets!”

One black brow rose in amusement at Kent’s introduction, but if there was anyone that needed to be taken off the streets, it was the piece of shit out murdering children. A thrill of anticipation tingled along her spine as she looked over at Hancock. “That’s my cue,” she told him, switching the radio off. “You coming?”

“You kiddin’?” he smirked back, bringing his shotgun up to rest against his shoulder. “No way in hell am I missin’ this.”

Ying drew her knife, hiding the glint of the blade in the long folds of her coat.

They found Delancy in an alley, crouched over a body as he went through the dead man’s pockets. He looked up as she approached, a sly smile splitting his face as she took in her attire.

“What’s with the getup, sweetheart? You know, that looks expensive. Could be I’ve found a new friend.”

“Your crimes have gone unpunished for too long!” she cried in a deep, dramatic voice. She had to bite back a grin as Delancy took a small step back, eyes wide in alarm. Behind her, she could hear Hancock try to muffle a snicker.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Delancy demanded, and then shrugged. “Whatever. Nothin’ a few bullets won’t fix.”

Before he could reach for his gun, Ying brought her knife up, stabbing him just above his collar bone and then stepped aside to avoid the resultant spray. She wasn’t about to go through a repeat of her fight with Bobbi. The advantage was hers this time around and she didn’t hesitate to take it.

He staggered back, a hand clamped to the base of his neck, blood streaming from between his fingers, and collapsed.

“One less murderer in Goodneighbor,” Hancock remarked, coming to stand beside her, black eyes fixed on the growing pool of red spreading beneath Delancy. “Nice.”

Ying cleaned her knife and set about taking what ammunition and supplies the man had on him. He raised a feeble hand in an effort to stop her and she clucked her tongue, swatting it aside. When she was through, she took one of the calling cards Kent had made for her and tucked it in the strap of his chest piece.

“How authentic do you think it needs to be?” she asked Hancock as she stood.

“Whadya mean?” the ghoul looked confused. “Guy’s dead, or close enough, anyway. That’s pretty damn authentic.”

She eyed the submachine gun on its shoulder strap. “The Shroud uses a gun. Do you think I should shoot him?”

Hancock’s answering laugh died abruptly when Ying didn’t join in. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Kent wants the Shroud, the Shroud uses a machine gun,” she bristled.

“Then why didn’t you just shoot him in the first place?” Hancock asked, clearly puzzled. “Waste of good ammunition when he’s already dead.”

“I can’t.” She could feel the hot flush of embarrassment stain her cheeks, but she held the mayor’s gaze. “I’ve never even held a gun before -well, except for now, I guess,” she added with another glance at the weapon.

The ghoul’s mouth dropped open in shock. “How the hell are you still alive?”

“I don’t need a gun to defend myself,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. His incredulity stung her pride. She was used to people underestimating her – depended on it in some cases – but coming from him, it bothered her. She’d done more than enough to prove herself.

“Hey, that’s not how I mean it,” he said, raising a placating hand. “It’s just surprising, is all. Most kids learn to shoot as soon as they can hold a gun. But I guess things were probably different when you were growin’ up.”

Ying nodded, appeased. “It was. It was illegal for civilians to have weapons. Nate had a few because he was military, but he wouldn’t teach me.”

“You wanna learn, doll, all you gotta do is say so. You’d get a lot less of that,” he smirked and indicated the livid bruising across her nose and beneath her eyes.

Ying chewed her lip as she thought it over. He had a point, and while she didn’t like to admit it, the fact was, her lack of range was a weakness. She relied on stealth and speed, and when that failed, she wasn’t afraid to fight dirty to even the odds, but that was only going to take her so far. Sooner or later, she was going to catch a bullet, and her knife wouldn’t do her a damn bit of good when that happened. Guns were the weapon of choice in the commonwealth, and she was only hurting herself by refusing to adapt.

“Yeah,” she said at last. “If you’re willing to teach me, I’d be a fool to turn you down. Thanks.”

Her gaze slid back to Delancy – the man was no longer breathing, she noted – and Hancock sighed.

“Here, give me that.”

She pulled the strap from over her head and handed the silver machine gun to the mayor. She could see his jaw tighten in exasperation, but he turned and pumped a few rounds into Delancy before slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s see what Kenny-boy comes up with next.”

Ying followed him out of the alley, unaware of the soft smile on her lips.

They spent the next couple of days listening for Kent’s messages on the radio and then going after the people he named. They had developed something of a system. Hancock would open fire and draw attention to himself, and Ying would slip away and creep close enough to wait for an opening. Sometimes she used her blade, and sometimes it was a well-placed mine. While she was busy with that, Hancock would reload and then they would move to the next target.

It had been a very long time since Ying could remember having so much fun. The people she was after were all murdering thugs she’d have taken care of anyway - Goodneighbor didn’t need trash like that cluttering its streets. But there was an undeniable thrill while she was pretending to be the Silver Shroud. They thought she was a joke at first, just some lunatic in a costume, but as the kill count climbed, they began to take the Shroud more seriously. She knew it was nonsense, but in the heat of the moment, she felt as powerful as any superhero.

It wasn’t until after they’d dealt with an assassin named Kendra that the mayor stopped her. They were just about to leave the old apartment building Kendra had been holed up in when Hancock motioned her over and warned her about Sinjin.

“All these people Kent’s been sending you after belong to that asshole,” the mayor informed her. “And he ain’t happy about you pickin’ off his men. The guy wants revenge, in a bad way.”

“He’s hardly the first to want me dead.”

Technically true, but Hancock already knew that and still felt the need to warn her. A ripple of unease washed over her. There were worse things than dying, and to a creative mind, death was only the final step. There could be a very long walk before that.

Hancock only nodded. “Yeah, but this guy has the means to do something about it. We’re not talking about your average raider, here. Sinjin ain’t the biggest fish around, but he’s a sadistic bastard and he’s movin’ up in the world a lot faster than I’d like. Couple years from now and who knows what it’ll take to bring him down.”

The ghoul was silent, head tilted as he considered his next words. “It’d be a damn shame if he killed you,” he said after a few moments had passed and Ying was surprised at the sincerity in his voice. “But that’s not the only reason I’m tellin’ you this. Sinjin’s bad news for Goodneighbor, you feel me? You take him out, and the whole town would rest a lot easier.”

“Okay.” At his dubious expression, Ying rolled her eyes and explained, “The entire point of this superhero fantasy of Kent’s was to make Goodneighbor a safer place, Hancock. That goal hasn’t changed just because I made it onto another asshole’s shit list.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to play dress-up,” the mayor teased.

“The truth – and don’t you dare breathe a word of this to Kent,” Ying warned, pointing a stern finger at Hancock. “The truth is, I don’t even like the Silver Shroud. Never have. Terrible writing, worse acting... just..ugh.”

“Then why all this?” he asked, waving a hand toward her costume. “You don’t need the fancy getup to take down a few bad guys.”

“Because it means something to Kent,” Ying answered softly.

She could have elaborated, could have said that she knew what it felt like to willingly dive headfirst into a rushing current, knowing full well it would eventually pull you under, just for the sake of a few moments’ respite. That their vices differed hardly mattered; the behavior was the same, and while she suspected that Hancock was more than familiar with that sort of thing himself, giving voice to the thought would be an admission Ying wasn’t ready to make.

Instead, she asked, “What else do you know about Sinjin?”

Hancock tapped a cigarette against the pack, features twisted in a scowl of frustration. “Nothin’. No one does. But I do happen to know where a couple of his guys are. You keep knocking ‘em down, and Sinjin’ll make himself known.”

Ying nodded in agreement. “Seems like the only option. I’m not waiting for this asshole to come to me.”

“Smart. Northy’ s out near Prospect Hill. Guy actually thinks you’re the real deal and he’s runnin’ scared. He’ll have some goons with him, but Smiling Kate is the bigger problem. She’s putting a group together to take you out. Last I heard, they’re meeting up near Bunker Hill.”

“Smiley first, then.” Ying pursed her lips, eyes narrowed in thought. “It’s been a while, but I can’t imagine politics have changed much in the last couple centuries. If you need to sit this one out, I get it.”

Hancock’s face slid into an easy grin. “Normally, you’d be right. Me bein’ involved would just...complicate things. But all these assholes care about is the Shroud, and that’s you, friend. Sinjin takes a dirt nap, and there’s nothin’ to worry about, so you could say we have a common cause. Don’t worry, sister. I got your back.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Hancock’s information proved reliable.

They found Smiling Kate just outside of Bunker Hill, surrounded by a small group of raiders. Ying had to hold back an impatient roll of her eyes as the deranged woman made the mistake of talking to her instead of immediately attacking. Everyone present knew damn well why Sinjin was upset with her. She didn’t need it explained, and she didn’t wait for Smiley to finish. As much as she enjoyed the role, Ying wasn’t the Shroud, and this wasn’t a radio show. Smiley’s taunts were interrupted by a wet gurgle, her painted and dirty face a mask of pained disbelief.

Ying jerked her blade from the woman’s throat, and saw a flicker of fear in the wide eyes of the man closest to her. There was a single, brief moment of hesitation as Smiley’s men caught up with the demise of their leader and then all hell broke loose as Ying darted out of the way and Hancock flung a molotov into the group.

Teeth flashing, she shot the ghoul a wild grin as she ducked behind a crumbling wall. Panicked screams rang out as Smiley’s men scattered and sought cover. Ying waited for a break in the sudden tattoo of gunfire, keeping a sharp eye on Hancock from her position. He’d switched back to his shotgun, and while she couldn’t understand the appeal of a weapon that needed to be reloaded so often, it didn’t seem to hinder him.

As she watched, the mayor raised the gun and slammed it into his opponent’s face. The man staggered back, his weapon falling to the ground as he clapped a hand over his spurting nose. Hancock turned, firing a shot into another that was trying to get behind him.

Before the first could recover, Ying sneaked from behind the wall and came up behind him. He noticed her, but not before her knife was already sinking into his kidney. Hancock gave her an appreciative nod before moving further into the fray. Ying crept after him, staying out of sight when she could, only to dash in, blade flashing, when their enemies were foolish enough to present an opportunity.

Once the sounds of battle faded into silence, Ying picked over the fallen, taking what she could and finishing off the occasional raider unfortunate enough to still be breathing. Despite Hancock’s earlier words, she knew he was still taking a risk as mayor of Goodneighbor in helping her. She wasn’t going to chance leaving loose ends that might come back to haunt him later.

Compared to Smiling Kate’s crew, the encounter with Northy could hardly rate as a skirmish. Northy ran as soon as he caught sight of her, leaving his hired men behind to deal with them. Ying wasn’t pleased about having to chase the man down, but it amused her that the coward was willing to cross someone like Sinjin just to avoid the wrath of the Silver Shroud. When she finally caught up with him, he spluttered in terror before finally realizing that he ought to defend himself. Too late.

Aside from a holotape, Northy was carrying little of interest. Ying grabbed the disk and jogged back to where she’d left Hancock, expecting to help him finish off Northy’s hired thugs. Instead, she found the mayor calmly pocketing a handful of ammunition, shotgun slung over his shoulder as he waited for her. There were bodies strewn around him, and more than one appeared to have also been in the process of running away when they’d fallen.

The thing about hired protection, Ying mused, stepping over a corpse as she met up with the ghoul, was that your employees were only willing to put their lives on the line as long as they knew they were getting paid. Take that certainty away, and contracted loyalty tended to die an abrupt death.

“You take care of Northy?” he asked.

“Yeah. Didn’t have much on him except this.” Ying waved the holotape. “Let me load it up.”

She slid the disk into the player on her Pip-boy, dark eyes narrowing as she listened to a woman’s venomous tone. Most of the message was irrelevant, orders issued to lackeys that weren’t around to hear them anymore, but the last part caught Ying’s attention, sending a cold stone of dread sinking to the pit of her stomach.

_“...The boss ain’t happy. He’s getting personally involved, gonna pay the Shroud’s little flunky friend a visit in Goodneighbor. When he’s done with that, he’ll check in, and he’ll be expecting results.”_

Kent was in danger because of her. Guilt settled like a toxic cloud, heavy and choking, but she had no time for that now.

“That fucker’s going after Kent!” Ying spat, punching the button to eject the tape. She spun, flinging the disk into a wall. It cracked as it collided with the unyielding brick, bouncing to the ground in a mess of broken plastic and ribbons of tape. “Fuck!”

As childish as her tantrum was, anger was something she could use and she stoked the flames as high as she dared, burning through the fog of fear and regret.

“So we hightail it home, see if we can beat Sinjin there.” Despite the easy confidence in his tone, Hancock didn’t appear pleased with the odds of actually making it to Kent before Sinjin did, but he’d already started walking in the direction of Goodneighbor.

Ying hurried to catch up with him, cursing beneath her breath. “And if we don’t beat him there?” she asked after a few minutes of tense silence had passed.

“Than we track that asshole down and put two in his skull,” Hancock muttered, keeping his eyes on the road.

Ying’s answering grin was all teeth.

They made it back to Goodneighbor in record time, but Ying knew as soon as they entered the gate that it still hadn’t been fast enough. A few of the Neighborhood Watch were casting nervous looks towards the mayor, and she left Hancock to speak with them as she headed for the Memory Den.

The Den’s proprietess, Irma, rose from her couch when Ying stormed through the door.

“Oh, sweetheart!,” Irma cried, hurrying over to clutch at Ying’s sleeve. “Thank goodness you’re here. I told Kent all that hero stuff was gonna get you both killed!”

“Where is Kent, Irma? What happened here?”

“They -they just came in and took him!” the older woman exclaimed, the feathers on her dress trembling as she took in several shuddering breaths. Tears gathered on her lashes as she peered down at Ying with tired, bloodshot eyes. “You’ve got to get him back, sugar. Oh, I knew this wouldn’t end well.”

“Who took him?” Ying demanded, striving for patience. “Who, Irma?”.”

“Raiders,” Irma whispered. “About a dozen or so. They just barged in and took him before we could do anything. I tried, but I – I’m so sorry! They left a...message. You can hear it on Kent’s radio station. It just keeps playing, over and over.”

Ying shook the woman’s hand away and stalked from the Memory Den, tuning into Kent’s station as she did. She grit her teeth until her jaw ached as Kent’s panicked voice came through the static.

_“Who are you? Oh, god...what’s happening?”_

There was a cry of pain and then a new voice, low and menacing, rasped _“You must be the Shroud’s little friend. Well, Shroud, if you want to see your friend alive again, meet me at Milton General Hospital.”_

Kent tried to cry out a warning, and Ying clenched her hand into a fist as she heard the unmistakable crack of a gunshot and Kent’s anguished scream.

_“Oh, god! Do it, Shroud, do it. My knee -”_

Hearing enough, Ying switched off the radio and turned so quickly she smacked into Hancock as he was coming up behind her.

“Easy there,” he murmured, reaching out to steady her. “You got a lead?”

“Milton General. Sinjin’s got him alive, but he’s hurt...”

The ghoul gave her a sharp nod of understanding. “Right behind ya, sister.”

Sinjin had stationed guards throughout the hospital. There was an almost palpable tension in the decrepit building, a nervous energy so thick the air seemed to hum with it, and she wasn’t the only one affected by it. The sound of anxious voices floated up ahead, and Ying scowled in disgust at their stupidity. How these idiots managed to just waltz into Goodneighbor and leave with Kent was still a mystery.

Ying and Hancock walked through the empty halls with light, cautious steps. Whenever possible, the small woman used the element of surprise to her advantage, sneaking up on her foes and dispatching them with deadly precision. If that failed, she got out of the way so Hancock could take point with his shotgun.

They’d cleared most of the first floor before her last thread of patience snapped. There was still no sign of Sinjin, and every minute they spent navigating the ruined hospital was another tick of the clock that Kent might not have.

As they turned down another corridor, Hancock motioned for her to stop. Ying frowned and opened her mouth to ask what the problem was but the ghoul just shook his head and signaled for quiet. After a moment, she could hear it, too: the dull echo of footsteps coming their way.

After a quick look around, Ying pointed to a small side room and they ducked inside, flattening themselves against the wall beside the door. Half a minute later, an armored woman came into view, holding a raised tire iron in front of her. As she stepped in front of the doorway, Ying popped out from behind the wall and swung a fist st the raider’s jaw as hard as she could.

The woman cried out and there was a loud clang as the tire iron clattered to the floor.

“What the hell?”

Ying grabbed the raider’s chest piece and slammed her against the wall. She flashed a wicked grin and brought the tip of her knife up to rest at the corner of her captive’s eye.

“I wouldn’t move, if I were you,” Ying cautioned. “Now, where is Sinjin?”

“Don’t- don’t kill me, please!”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“He’s in the basement!”

“How do I get there?” Ying pressed.

“”Y-you have to go up to the second floor. The only way down is through a section of floor that collapsed.”

“Thank you.”

Ignoring the question in the woman’s panicked gaze, Ying lowered her knife and in one sharp motion, slashed the blade across the woman’s throat.

She met Hancock’s eyes, her own defiant. The ghoul shrugged and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Elevator’s back that way.”

With an idea of where they were going, it didn’t take long to find Sinjin. As she stepped from the elevator, Ying’s dark eyes swept the room. It was large with high ceilings, perhaps used as a surgery at one time.There were a handful of raiders scattered about, all pointing guns in her direction.

_All he has left,_ Ying noted with dark satisfaction.

Sinjin himself was waiting on a landing that connected to a set of stairs for the observatory. He had Kent kneeling in front of him, the barrel of his gun pressed to the back of the small ghoul’s head. A fresh wave of guilt crashed over her as she took in her friend’s miserable expression. He had the look of a man who knew he was doomed and just wanted the awful anticipation to end.

“Hold it right there, Shroud,” Sinjin called down. “You take one more step and we get to see what the inside of Kent’s head looks like.”

“What do you want, Sinjin?” Ying asked, trying to stall for time.

Several feet separated her from the landing; there was no way she could get to Kent before Sinjin pulled the trigger. Sinjin had total control in that moment, and he knew it.

“Some of these losers think you’re the real thing, the legendary Silver Shroud, straight out of a comic book or something. But you and I know the truth. You’re just human. You’re weak, Shroud. You came back here just to save your little side-kick?”

“You’re hiding behind a hostage and you honestly think you’re the strong one?” Ying scoffed before she could think better of it.

Instantly, she wished she could take the words back. Her incessant need to mouth off was going to get Kent killed.

To her surprise, Sinjin only laughed, not through toying with her yet. “I can play you like a chump because you care about a weakling like this. Me? I’ll do anything to win. Anything. That’s the difference between you and me, Shroud, and it’s why I’m the one calling the shots.

“So here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to kill Kent, and then I’m going to kill you. There won’t be anything left but paste by the time I’m through. And then,” he added, with a glance at Hancock, smug features alight with triumph. “I’m going to Goodneighbor to kill every worthless bastard there and burn the place to the ground.”

Ying bit her tongue until she tasted blood in an effort to keep her scathing reply to herself. She loathed feeling helpless and hated the desperation building in her chest even more.

“I’m the one you want, Sinjin. Just leave Kent out of this.”

Sinjin’s mouth twisted into a cruel smirk, and he gave an amused shake of his head. “It’s too late for that, Shroud. No one screws with Sinjin!”

It happened so fast, yet every detail was burned into her brain with the same vivid clarity a hit of jet would provide.

Ying saw Sinjin’s hand twitch and a loud crack echoed in her ears. Scarlet spattered Sinjin’s armor, and Kent slumped forward. The moment seemed to stretch on and on as she could only stare in horror, and then like the sudden popping of a soap bubble, reality returned and time once more began to flow.

“You’re dead, motherfucker!” she shrieked.

With single-minded purpose, Ying charged for the stairs, aiming vicious slashes and stabs at anything that got in her way. It was the epitome of recklessness, but she was beyond caring. All that mattered was that Sinjin pay, and if he managed to get her, too, that was fine. She’d drag that fucker to hell with her.

There was a sudden sharp impact at the back of her left shoulder, staggering her a few steps and setting fire racing all the way to her fingertips. She felt the pain but it was distant; it could only burn her now if she let it. Hancock yelled something that vaguely resembled her name, but she ignored him. Her vision filled with a red haze, strange white lights flickering at the edges as her pulse roared in her ears. Something wet and warm trickled down her arm and dripped off her fingers, slicking the hilt of her knife, but Ying just snarled and switched hands, eyes fixed on Sinjin.

As she reached the landing, Ying threw herself at the man, and it was like hitting a brick wall. Ghouls tended to run on the slim side, but Sinjin was just one solid mass of muscle. She managed to slash at his ribs before he threw her off of him and Ying let out a rough bark of laughter at his hiss of pain. She scrambled to her feet and aimed a kick at his solar plexus, then sliced at the arm he brought up in defense. Sinjin roared and swung a meaty fist at her head. She tried to dodge the hit, but wasn’t fast enough, his fist caught her temple in a glancing blow. Even without his full strength behind it, it was enough to break the skin and make her stumble back.

Blood dripped into her eye, and Ying blinked furiously to clear it. The room pitched and reeled, forcing her to grab the railing of the stairs in an effort to orient herself.

“So long, Shroud!” Sinjin’s voice was a cry of victory as he took a step toward her and raised the barrel of his gun level with her head.

Before he could pull the trigger, there was a resounding boom. Sinjin grunted and rocked forward a step before he caught himself, one arm wrapped around his stomach, a dark stain spreading beneath. Seeing her chance, Ying gave a sharp shake of her head to clear it and ran at the man. Already off balance, he was knocked off his feet, falling backward with Ying landing on his chest.

Ying slammed her knife into his shoulder, pinning him to the floor.

“You’ll pay for what you did to Kent, you psycho fuck!”

“You gonna kill me, sweetheart?” Sinjin sneered, his expression smug despite his obvious pain. “Or just talk me to death?”

Hands shaking with her fury, Ying twisted the knife still protruding from his shoulder. “Death is too good for you, asshole,” she hissed in a hoarse whisper. “You deserve -”.

_They deserved worse than death._

Her breath caught in her throat as Ying froze in stunned horror. She could see Sinjin reach for the knife that pinned him, but she could not force herself to react. Even when she was yanked backwards, a blur of red filling her vision, Ying could only stare as the words echoed in her mind.

There was another loud crack, she could feel it ringing in her ears, but the actual sound was oddly muffled, like trying to hear through a wad of cotton. The world had gone strange, fuzzy at the edges. She had the sudden urge to reach out and touch something, convince herself it was still real, but her hands didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel right. It was as if she were floating and yet tethered, anchored to a body that was not her own.

It was a familiar sensation, but not a part of her she’d ever wanted another witness to. She couldn’t summon the will to care at the moment, but some distant part of mind ordered her to snap out of it. Now was not the time, but try as she might, she couldn’t obey.

“Hey, you alright?”

She heard the words but they had no meaning, bouncing around like useless things. A gentle pressure tipped her chin up, forcing her to look into eyes as black as pitch. She was staring into the abyss, but instead of terror, she felt warm. She couldn’t put a name to the face, but she knew she could trust the owner.

“You check out on me? C’mon, doll. You’re okay. You can come back from...wherever the hell you are now.”

She still couldn’t make out the words, but the voice was incessant, a constant low chatter that managed to penetrate the fog swirling inside her head.

“Listen, Ying. I’m not one to take liberties, but you’re bleedin’ pretty bad here. I need to take a look at that bullet wound. You got any objections, now’s the time.”

There was a huff and then a tug at the belt to her coat, a dull throbbing as her arm was lifted and maneuvered out of the sleeve. Another tug, this time near her shoulder, the ripping of fabric, and then the pressure of prodding fingers.

“Stims should hold you over till we get back to Goodneighbor.” A touch to the crook of her elbow, then, and the voice continued, “Doesn’t look like you’re a stranger to needles, so this shouldn’t be too bad. We’ll hold off on the pain meds, for now. Doubt you’re feeling much yet, anyway.”

There was a pinch and a hiss, then the warm rush beneath her skin that came with an injection.

She wasn’t sure how long she floated, but her return was sudden, the snap of a rubber band that had been stretched beyond its endurance. She blinked, startled, and looked around wildly, taking in short, panicked breaths.

“Easy there. Just breathe... that’s it.”

Ying fought to slow her breathing, scrubbing a shaking hand over her face. She knew right away what had happened, remembered parts of it even, but the memories were little more than dim fragments. She covered her eyes, mortified and let out a trembling breath.

“Sorry about that.”

“Hey, no judgment, but uh, what exactly was that?”

Ying shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know. It just happens sometimes. Not often, but...”

She shuddered as everything came rushing back. Kent’s death, Sinjin and the terrible, consuming desire to not just kill the man but _hurt_ him first...the declaration she’d left unfinished.

_You deserve worse than death._

“What happened, Ying?” Hancock asked quietly. “And I don’t mean Kent. You were pissed off after that - which is frankly terrifying- but you were still in the game.”

She hesitated, a refusal on the tip of her tongue, but then sighed. She trusted him. Even earlier, when she couldn’t remember his name, she’d known that she could trust him. But trust was worthless if it wasn’t returned.

“Sinjin..I- I wanted to hurt him Hancock. Killing him was too easy. I wanted him to suffer.”

“You and me both. But so what? It’s not like you were goin’ to torture the guy or anything.”

“Are you so sure?”

Hancock chuckled, but it was without derision. “You stopped, right? Just thinking it was enough to make you freeze up. So yeah, I’m sure.”

Ying was quiet for a few minutes, considering his words. “I killed the raiders that were after Pickman at the gallery,” she said at last. “He said that they deserved worse than death. I told him no one deserved the shit he did to them, but Sinjin...I don’t know what I think anymore. And it terrifies me that I don’t know, when only a few days ago, I was certain.

“All it took was one asshole, and suddenly I’m reconsidering. He said I was just like him, and honestly? Maybe he’s not wrong about that.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Hancock objected, holding up a hand. “That’s a load of shit. You can’t let that guy into your head like that, Ying. You’re not out there cuttin’ people up for the fun of it. There’s a world of difference between you and that bastard.”

“I used to think so.”

“Look, you start gettin’ too close to the edge, I’ll pull your ass back. Not gonna let you fall over.”

It was a simple statement, but Ying felt close to tears. She swallowed hard and nodded, blinking back the burning in her eyes. “I’m sorry about Kent.”

“Wasn’t your fault, doll.” When she went to argue, the ghoul shook his head. “Don’t,” he said gently. “Sinjin wanted revenge. He was going to kill Kent no matter what you said, just because he figured out it would hurt you.

"Most people thought Kent was crazy, but you actually listened to him and helped make a difference. You came here after him. You _tried_. Not alot of folks would have done the same.

“C’mon,” he said wearily. “You need to get that shoulder looked at. I’ll send some of my boys back for Kent.”

Ying took the hand he offered and pulled herself to her feet. Her shoulder throbbed at the movement, and her stomach rolled with nausea. She cast one last look where Kent’s body lay, a tear spilling from her lashes before she could stop it. She quickly wiped the moisture away and followed Hancock from the hospital.

She knew the ghoul meant well, but she wasn’t buying it. Kent had died because of her. Sinjin might have pulled the trigger, but the only reason Kent was even on that lunatic’s radar was because of her. He’d have been better off if she’d never tuned in to his station. Sure, they got a few thugs off the streets, but at the cost of an innocent life.

_Oh, Kent. I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for this. I struggled for a while on whether I should go that route for the story, but in the end, I felt it was necessary. 
> 
> I've never actually allowed this to happen in any of my saves, even if it meant reloading five times in a row, but like I said, it really is integral to the plot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and language

For most, slumber was peaceful oblivion, a reprieve from all the little – and not so little- troubles of daily life. It was a chance to recharge and face the next day and all it may bring fresh and clear-headed. For Ying, sleeping meant an unwilling journey to a desolate landscape populated by all the fears and insecurities her unconscious mind could no longer keep at bay. Though she resisted his siren call for as long as she could, it was always just a matter of time until Morpheus had his way.

Sometimes the dreams were clear as a Pre-War cinema, images of icy blue eyes or the muzzle flash of a rifle so vivid they sometimes bled into her waking thoughts. Other times, she was awakened by her own thrashing, a hoarse cry dying on her lips as her heart pounded in her ears and panic snaked through her veins. There was no bogeyman to banish, no specter she could laugh off as the product of her imagination or an overindulgence of chems, only a vague wash of terror that was slow to recede.

When her nightmares released her, Ying often found Hancock watching her, the red ember of his cigarette reflected in the inky pools of his eyes.

Tonight was no different in that aspect, but as she jerked awake, her chest heaving and her mouth dry, Ying was startled to find two sets of eyes fixed on her; one black as night, the other the soft glow of early morning. She blinked, disoriented, but it didn’t take long to remember that their duo had turned into a temporary trio. Nick Valentine, the synth detective she and Hancock freed from Vault 114, had joined them for the trip back to Diamond City. They were all going the same place, so it made little sense to travel separately, even if she did resent an additional audience member to her nocturnal hell.

Ying ignored their looks as she retrieved a can of water from her pack. She drank deeply before wetting her hands and running them over her heated face. The dream was already fading, so much sand slipping through her fingers, but she could remember intense cold and the choking sting of chemical vapor, a phantom ache in her hands as she beat them against thick glass in a futile attempt at escape.

She knew what happened next, and though she’d been spared from reliving that awful moment in her dream, her mind had no difficulty conjuring the memories that filled in the gaps - the ringing blast that seemed to reverberate through her prison of metal and glass, the single drop of blood that splashed on the floor, stark against the polished gray tile, the shrill, frightened cries of her infant son as he was taken from his father’s limp grasp. Clenching her trembling hands into fists, Ying kept her back to her companions and took several deep breaths as she fought to compose herself. It wasn’t enough – it was never enough- but it got her to where she could fake the rest.

A glance at the sky told her that dawn wasn’t that far off. With no reason to even pretend to sleep a while longer, Ying took a seat beside Hancock and offered the ghoul the remaining water. He took the can from her and tossed her a pack of cigarettes. Nodding her thanks, she lit one and closed her eyes as the smoke bit at the back of her throat. After so many weeks together, this had become routine.

There was a glint of steel as Hancock wordlessly held her combat knife out to her. The ghoul had once made the mistake of trying to wake her, and she still cringed in shame at the memory of coming to with her blade pressed against his throat. From then on, Ying left her knife with him whenever she attempted to rest.

“Thanks.” She took the knife and sheathed it in her belt. “There should be enough light soon to hit the road again.”

Hancock held her gaze just long enough to let her know he wasn’t buying whatever bullshit she was trying to sell before breaking into a wide grin. “Been waitin’ on you, sister. I know how you pre-war types are about your beauty rest.”

Ying snorted but offered the ghoul a small smile, grateful for his willingness to play along. He didn’t make a big deal out of her nightmares, but he didn’t let her pretend they weren’t happening. He listened to her talk on the rare occasion she volunteered, and it hadn’t escaped her notice that the majority of their scavenged med-x ended up in her pack, but he never tried to pry.

Finishing the last of her cigarette, Ying flicked the butt away and noticed Nick staring at her. She cocked a brow in question, not realizing the issue until he asked, “Pre-war, huh?”

“Yeah. Cryo,” she replied with a nod. “Vault 111 had these...pods that were supposed to be decontamination chambers. They weren’t. I’ve been frozen the last two centuries.”

Back in 114, there hadn’t been time for more than basic introductions and a brief mention that she needed help finding someone. Both of them agreed that that conversation could wait until they were safely back at the agency. That agreement was still in effect, because Nick hummed, but didn’t ask further questions. They’d get to that soon enough.

Hoisting her pack, Ying stood, hiding a wince at the sharp ache in her shoulder. It had been just over two months since she was shot during her disastrous stint as the Silver Shroud. The wound had healed better than she hoped, but still gave her trouble now and then.

She checked the pistol Hancock had given her to be sure it was loaded, and tucked it into her belt before turning to her companions. “Ready?”

Getting into Diamond City was surprisingly easy, considering that two thirds of their little party wasn’t supposed to be there. While she couldn’t deny that being in Nick’s company went a long way in smoothing things over with security, Ying still found it all a bit odd. There were remarks about Hancock, just as there had been the first time they were here before they’d known Nick was missing, but no one actually tried to make them leave. She’d have thought security would have notified the mayor that there was a ghoul walking openly in the streets, at least, but McDonough was suspiciously absent. Ying filed the observation away to puzzle over later when she had the time. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could leave.

The first time Ying saw the Valentine Detective Agency, it was little more than a shack furnished with a desk and a few filing cabinets. The building hadn’t changed any since she was there last, but Nick added something to it that she couldn’t quite name. The detective commanded a presence here that, while not exactly lacking before, hadn’t been as obvious out in the ruins. He was completely in his element.

An uncomfortable feeling of deja vu settled over Ying as she took a seat in front of the battered desk, suddenly reminded of the cops that had hauled her in to the station back when she’d been nothing more than an angry teen with a bad attitude and a penchant for mischief. She settled against the hard plastic of the chair in a lazy sprawl, drumming her fingers against the armrest as she waited for Nick to finish speaking with his assistant, Ellie.

Not for the first time, Ying wondered what she hoped to accomplish by being here. She tried not to think about her son when she could avoid it, and most of the time it was easier than it should have been, like stuffing some painful memento she couldn’t part with into a box and shoving it to the back of the closet. The box was never far, but she didn’t take it out and open it, either. It was better that way, or so she’d convinced herself.

The world she’d woken to was hard and violent, survival of the fittest at its most extreme. What hope did an infant have? And that was operating on the hefty assumption that her son had been taken at some point recent enough to be relevant. Two hundred years was a long time, and she had no way of knowing when her brief return to consciousness had occurred during that span.

On the other hand, if there was the slightest chance that her son was out there somewhere, she had to know. Shaun was the one highlight of her marriage, and while she knew she was probably the last person who should have ever had a child, she owed it to him to learn the truth, one way or another.

There was a sudden scrape of wood on wood and Ying looked up to see Nick seating himself behind his desk, Ellie standing behind him, pen and clipboard in her hands. The detective got right to business; she could appreciate that.

“Now, you said you were looking for a missing person, but I’m going to need more than that to go on.” Nick paused to regard her a moment, his expression oddly gentle for a man whose face was made of plastic and metal. “Tell me everything you know, no matter how... painful. The smallest detail can be the one that cracks the case, no matter how trivial it may seem.”

Ying fished in her pocket for her cigarettes, using the time to gather her thoughts. She lit one and took a deep drag. The act was a comfort in itself, but it also served as a distraction, something she could use to keep herself distanced from what she was about to say.

“I told you about the vault,” she began, her voice flat. She was narrating an event, nothing more. “Vault 111. It wasn’t just me – my husband and son were in there, too. The staff made us get into these pods – said we had to be decontaminated before we could go on to the orientation. Nate and Shaun were in one together and I was by myself across from them. The pod sealed and there was a mist or vapor. I could taste some kind of chemical. It got...cold...and then everything went dark.”

Ying took another hit of her cigarette to hide the trembling of her lips. “I woke up and heard voices, a man and a woman. They opened Nate’s pod and were trying to take Shaun. He wouldn’t let go of him and the man just pulled out a gun and...shot him...”

She kept her eyes fixed on the cluttered surface of the desk as she toyed with the ring in her lip. Nate had deserved better than to be shot point blank while he was helpless and disoriented.

“Can you describe these people?” Nick asked as Ellie scribbled furiously on her clipboard.

“Not the woman, no. She was wearing some sort of hazmat suit, so I couldn’t see her face, but I got a good look at the bastard that killed Nate. Dark eyes, bald, late thirties to early forties. And he had a scar on his face that ran down across his left eye. Like this.” Ying ran a finger along a deep scar that slashed from her hairline to jaw. “Same side and everything.”

“Hold on a minute.” Nick held up a skeletal metal hand to stop her from continuing. “You didn’t happen to hear the name Kellogg, did you?”

Ying put out her cigarette and reached for another as she shook her head. “No, but I wasn’t exactly a quiet spectator as this was going on, either.”

Nick hummed in thought. If he’d noticed her biting tone, he chose not to remark on it.“Even so, it’s too much to be coincidence. Ellie, what do we have on Kellogg?”

Ellie retrieved a folder from one of the cardboard boxes scattered about the office and quickly flipped through several pages. “The description matches,” she said, holding the file out, one finger marking a spot on the page. “Bald, scar on the left side of the face, a reputation for dangerous mercenary work. But no one knows who his employer is.”

“And just how dangerous is snatching an infant from the arms of a dead man?” Ying snapped.

“C’mon, doll,” Hancock drawled from behind her. She turned, surprised to find him leaning against the back wall. The ghoul had been silent up until now, and Ying had nearly forgotten he was there. “They’re tryin’ to help, here. No reason to take this shit out on them.”

“I understand,” Ellie was quick to assure. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be.”

Ying sighed, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

_Emotionless narrator._

“No, he’s right.” She met Ellie’s eyes first and then Nick’s. “I’m sorry.” With a deep breath to steady her nerves she asked, “You really think this could be the same guy?”

“Sure sounds like more than coincidence. Should be easy enough to find out. He bought a house in town recently. He had a kid with him too, didn’t he?” Nick looked up at Ellie for confirmation.

“Yeah,” she replied after another glance at her notes. “The house in the West Stands. The boy with him was about ten years old.”

“Kellogg is still here?” Ying’s words were clipped, cold, a storm was gathering in her narrowed eyes.

It could be him. This Kellogg could be the same man who looked her in the eyes as she beat her fists bloody and then walked away with her child without so much as a backwards glance.

“He cleared out a while ago,” Nick answered with a shake of his head. “No one’s seen either of them since, but his house is still there. Let’s you and me take a walk over there and see what we can find.”

With a scrape of her chair, Ying got to her feet and followed the detective to the door.

“Security doesn’t really go to that part of town, but you should still be careful,” Ellie warned.

“Always am,” Nick called back. He turned his glowing eyes to Ying. “Come on, it’s not far.”

As they stepped out into the night, Ying was aware of just how stuffy the office had been and how heated her face had become. She tugged at the collar of her coat, sighing in relief as cool air breathed across her skin.

“Hey.” Hancock’s hand hovered over her shoulder in the barest of touches, the ghoul’s raspy voice pitched to keep from carrying. “You alright? Shit got pretty heavy in there.”

She’d only mentioned her family to the mayor once, and he’d recommended the synth detective as a starting point in her search for answers. By unspoken agreement, it wasn’t a subject either brought up in passing, but now that there was a real lead to work from and the dirty details were out in the open, it wasn’t something that they could keep avoiding, especially if she wanted him with her on this.

And she did, she realized. For reasons she wasn’t comfortable fully exploring, she not only wanted him there, she couldn’t imagine continuing down this path without him. It was a frightening conclusion to reach, and one she wasn’t quite sure what to do with, so Ying fell back on old defenses.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She schooled her features into a smirk and added, “I’ll be even better when I stick a knife in that bastard.”

Hancock nodded. “We’ll find him, and we’ll get your boy back.”

He spoke the words like a promise, and for a second, she believed that it would all end exactly as he said. Then her mind jumped to what that would mean, once more being responsible for another life, and it sent fear skittering through her insides.

“Yeah,” she managed to choke out. The way he phrased his statement hit her a moment later, and she honed in on a single word with laser precision. “’We’?”

“Got no plans of runnin’ out on ya,” he said with a casual lift of his shoulder. “Unless you had somethin’ else in mind?”

Ying gave an emphatic shake of her head, heat suffusing her cheeks at the earnestness of her denial. “No, I just...I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You and me? We’re a team. I got ya covered.” His thin lips twitched in amusement as he tilted his head in the detective’s direction, and it was only then that Ying realized they hadn’t actually been following the synth. “Better not keep ol’ Nick waiting.”

“Ellie’s right,” Nick said when they caught up. “Security doesn’t usually patrol this part of the stands, but we still shouldn’t dawdle.”

Ying gave the detective a look she hoped was properly contrite and fell into step beside him. “What else can you tell me about Kellogg?”

“Not a lot, and none of it good. I didn’t want Ellie to hear this, but he’s not just any mercenary. He’s a professional. He’s quick, clean, and thorough, but I’m guessing you’ve seen that for yourself. He doesn’t have any enemies because they’re all dead – all except for you, and I’d wager that’s more than just an oversight on his part.”

“What makes you think he’s the one who took Shaun? ‘Bald and scarred’ pretty much describes every second merc I’ve run into.”

“Yeah, but not many could pull off leading a small team to break into a vault just to kidnap a baby. Of those that could, fewer still would even bother, and I can’t see any of them leaving you alive for later. That kind of thing has Kellogg’s MO written all over it. Nine to one odds this is our guy.

“This is the place,” Nick said, indicating an old suite in the stands. “Keep an eye out while I try to get this open.”

Ying casually leaned against the railing, eyes sweeping the city for signs of trouble as the detective worked at the lock. Several minutes passed before he stepped back and shook his head.

“That’s one heck of a lock.” He held a small screw driver out to her. “See if you have better luck.”

“Ying here’s got a real talent for going places she shouldn’t,” Hancock chuckled.

Sliding a bobby pin from her hair, Ying shot the mayor a cocky grin and crouched down in front of the door. “You would know.”

The truth was, her skills had been acquired as a means to prevent being locked in rather than out, but a lock was a lock, no matter which side of the door she was on. In no time at all, there was a satisfying click, and she rose, dark eyes lit with triumph. “All set.”

She didn’t know what she expected to find, but Kellogg’s house was like the stereotypical villain’s lair straight out of those old crime shows Nate used to watch, complete with a cliché secret room. They learned that he’d left in a hurry and had a fondness for Gwinnett Stout and a preferred brand of cigar, but not much else. Ying swallowed her disappointment, the taste bitter as bile. It was just her luck that the only lead she had would go cold so soon.

She tossed a box of cigars aside in disgust as she wracked her brain on where to go next. Kellogg could be anywhere in the Commonwealth by now, and that was assuming he hadn’t moved on to a new area entirely. She doubted he was stupid enough to leave behind a trail for them to follow, and even if he was, Ying was by no means a tracker...so she needed to bring in someone who was.

“Dogmeat!” she said suddenly.

Nick looked at her, a question is those luminous eyes – probably wondering if she’d lost her mind – but Hancock nodded. “The pooch has a decent nose on him. Worth a shot, at least.”

“A dog, huh? You know that’s not a bad idea.” Nick tapped a metal finger against his chin. “A Commonwealth mutt can track a man’s scent for miles. You bring him here, let him get a bead on our guy, and I bet he’ll lead you right to him.”

“I’ll get him and we can go from there.”

As she turned to leave, Nick hesitated. “Look, I know this is personal, and you’ve already got company. If you need to do this on your own, just say so.”

Ying paused, considering. While she was truly grateful for all the detective had done for her, she had plans once they finally caught up with Kellogg, and she wasn’t going to lie to herself and claim they had anything to do with justice. This was about vengeance, pure and simple, and she got the feeling Nick wasn’t one that would approve.

“Thanks, Nick, for everything. But you’re right - I need to take it from here.”

“If you need me, my door’s always open,” the detective said, extending his undamaged hand. “Until then, good luck. If I see you again, I hope it’s with your boy, safe and sound.”

Ying took his hand in hers and gave it a firm shake. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me,” she said with a grin.

“I don’t doubt that. Take care of yourself out there, kid.”

It took a couple hours to collect Dogmeat and give him a chance to pick up the scent, but as they’d hoped, once he got it, there was no stopping him. Ying’s excitement grew with each new sign that they were on the right trail. Being the hunter instead of the one constantly looking over her shoulder was a new experience, and she reveled in the thrill of it.

Fort Hagen was an old military base from the looks of it, and defended by several turrets. There was no other indication that the building was inhabited, but Ying knew in her gut this was the place. Those turrets were a recent addition, and whoever placed them knew to expect trouble.

Well. Trouble had arrived.

There were a number of synths inside, similar in design to Nick, but missing the outer plating that gave the detective his human appearance. Her knife was useless against their metal frames, so she switched to her pistol. She still wasn’t very good with a gun and relied on her Pip-boy’s targeting assistance more than she should have, but the synths made for good practice.

Ying stepped over one skeletal form, mindful of the arcing wires left exposed from Hancock’s shotgun blast, and bent to retrieve the strange pistol it dropped when it went down. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before, though it used fusion cells similar to the laser muskets the minutemen favored.

At her puzzled frown, Hancock clarified, “Institute tech.”

She’d had her suspicions about the Institute’s involvement with Shaun’s kidnapping - it was hard not to. Any time a person went missing, whispers of the institute spread like wild fire. Some of the rumors were simply that: all conjecture and gross exaggeration, but she’d seen enough proof with her own eyes to know that most held at least a kernel of truth. Details were scant, but the Institute was very real, and she now had unwelcome confirmation that Kellogg was somehow involved with the organization.

A myriad of questions sprang to mind, the foremost being a simple _why_? Replacing people with synthetic copies made a brutal kind of sense. The Institute got their puppets where they wanted them, and if they were discovered, the resulting paranoia was just an added bonus. The people of the Commonwealth were too busy looking over their shoulders and turning on their neighbors to pay attention to the real threat. But how did a baby fit in with that? And why _her_ baby?

Ying’s lips pressed into a hard, flat line. She’d get her answers from Kellogg, even if she had to strip them from his miserable hide.

They moved floor by floor, working their way down from where they’d entered through a hatch on the roof. As they reached the basement, a masculine voice blared from a mounted speaker overhead.

_“Well, if it isn’t my old friend the frozen TV dinner. Last time we met, you were cozying up to the peas and apple cobbler.”_

She stopped so suddenly that Hancock bumped into her from behind, and the ghoul had to grab her shoulder to keep her from stumbling forward. She knew that voice, heard it over and over in her dreams; rough and low, like whiskey and cigarettes with an underlying arrogance that scraped her nerves raw.  
  
“That’s him,” she ground out from behind clenched teeth. “Nick was right: Kellogg’s the one that took Shaun.”

“Heh. Well, let’s not be rude and keep ‘im waiting.”

The basement was a labyrinth of crumbling concrete walls and narrow corridors lined with long-defunct boiler pipes. Kellogg’s voice dogged them, and with every taunt, Ying felt another surge of adrenaline flood her veins, heightening her senses and narrowing her focus to a single objective: find the bastard and shut him up, once and for all.

When the winding halls widened into a set of rooms that had been converted to living space, Ying knew they were at the end of the road. As she entered what she assumed was Kellogg’s bedroom, a sigh came over the speakers.

“ _You made it_ ,” the mercenary said, his voice betraying no sign of emotion. “ _Alright, I’ll have my synths stand down. Let’s talk_.”

They found Kellogg holed up in the base’s control room. He stepped forward, hands raised in a gesture of a – as far as Ying was concerned – very temporary truce. The mercenary carried a wicked looking revolver, she noted, and was flanked by an armed synth on either side. She met his gaze, her lip curling in hatred. All the while, she searched for obvious vulnerabilities as her mind worked furiously to formulate a plan of attack.

“And there she is,” Kellogg drawled. “The most resilient woman in the Commonwealth. We’ll have that talk now.”

Ying pulled her lips back in a feral approximation of a smile. “You killed my husband and you stole my son.” She tilted her head, eyes glittering like chips of black ice. “You’re going to die. The only thing we have to discuss is just how long that’s going to take.”

Kellogg looked away from her, and for an instant, something akin to remorse flitted across his weathered face. “Your husband...was a regrettable accident. Still...”

“Accident?!” Ying asked in shrill disbelief. “In the state he was in, you can’t even pretend he was a threat to you! But you aimed and pulled the trigger anyway. Don’t feed me this line of bullshit about that being an accident, and don’t you fucking dare act like you regret it!”

Her hands were shaking in her fury, and it felt like no matter how hard her lungs pulled, she couldn’t draw in a full breath.

Kellogg shook his head. “You’ve seen this world, this life. Pain and suffering is all there is; death is the only escape. But Shaun? Don’t worry about him. He’s doing fine. Maybe a little older than you expected. But I can’t give him to you because he ain’t here.”

Her knife was in her hand before she knew it. The synths at Kellogg’s side took a step forward and Ying heard the sound of Hancock readying his shotgun in response. Kellogg raised a hand, and his synthetic bodyguards stopped, weapons at the ready, but no longer advancing.

“Where. Is. My. Son,” Ying demanded, biting off each syllable.

“’So close and yet so far away – isn’t that how it goes?” the mercenary asked mockingly. The ghost of a smile drifted across his mouth as he toyed with her. “Don’t worry. You’ll die knowing he’s safe and happy, in a loving home. The Institute.”

“The Institute? Do you really think that’s going to stop me?” Ying gave a bitter chuckle, eyes alight with black humor. “I don’t care where you’ve hidden him - I’m going to find him.”

“God, you’re persistent,” Kellogg sighed. “It’s the way a parent should act, the way I’d like to think I’d act were I in your place. Even if it is useless.

“But I think that’s enough talk. We both know how this has to end.”

“It’s going to end with your corpse cooling at my feet.”

Her arm swept a wide arc in front of her, and Ying felt the impact all the way to her elbow as steel bit into flesh. There was a grunt from Kellogg and then the mercenary’s form wavered and warped like the air above asphalt on a hot day before he blinked out of sight.

 _Stealth-boy_ , her mind supplied, then added an unhelpful, _Shit_.

The synths were moving forward now, weapons firing. Ying sprinted for the door, twisting behind a small staircase to avoid their lasers. She reached into her pack, locating a mine by touch alone as her eyes scanned the room in an effort to locate Hancock. She spotted the ghoul crouched behind a desk as he waited for an opening. When their eyes met, Ying held up the explosive device so he could see what she had in mind. Hancock cursed and ducked around around the other side of the cubicle. Once he was safely behind cover, she armed the mine and slid it several feet in front of her with a deft flick of her wrist and sprinted for the door.

It wasn’t a clever trap, by any means, but Kellogg’s guards weren’t the height of synth technology, either. They didn’t even have the sense to stay behind something while they were shooting at her, and as she’d hoped, they didn’t make an effort to avoid the mine she’d placed.

One was destroyed when it triggered the mine. The other was caught in the explosion, but still functioning. Before Ying could draw her pistol to finish it off, Hancock popped up from his position and fired, dropping the synth in a heap of tangled metal limbs and sparking wires. With his bodyguards out of the way, Ying turned her attention to finding Kellogg.  
Creeping back into the control room, Ying stuck close to cover as she listened hard for any sound that might give the mercenary away. Her eyes swept over the interior, searching for the telltale shimmer that indicated the refraction of light, and settled on a splash of red. The stain was dark against the filthy carpet, but the glossy sheen to it told her it was fresh. She curled her lips into a venomous smile. She’d wounded him. Nothing fatal, judging by the size of the mark, but a point in her favor, nonetheless.

Another wet splotch was just a few feet from the first. Ying eased from behind a wide control panel to examine it and stilled as the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose.

She couldn’t explain why – perhaps it was the near inaudible whisper of stretching fabric, a slight disturbance in the air, or the slight change in temperature from another warm body in close proximity – but all at once, Ying knew someone was standing right behind her.

Acting on whatever primal instinct had alerted her in the first place, she dove to the ground. A bullet buried itself into the opposite wall in a cloud of concrete dust and peeling paint at the same height her head had been mere seconds prior.

Ying got to her feet, silently thanking whatever deity saw fit to ensure her head had remained atop her shoulders, and then promptly withdrew that gratitude when an unseen hand closed around her throat and threw her into the wall. Invisible fingers gripped her right wrist tight enough that she could feel the bones creak and slammed her hand into the concrete behind her. The blow sent pins and needles shooting through her hand, and her grip on the knife loosened against her will. Kellogg flickered into her vision as he repeated the motion, and the weapon slipped from her numb fingers.

“I told you to turn around and go,” the mercenary chided, his hand tightening around her neck. “Not many people get that chance – you should have taken it.”

Colored spots floated in front of her eyes as she clawed at his arm with her free hand. She managed to angle her head just enough to the side that Kellogg’s thumb was pressing into her jawbone and not against her carotid. She still couldn’t breathe, but the more immediate problem was staying conscious long enough to do something about that.

Her vision was blurred and darkening at the edges, Ying forced her body to go limp, her hand falling to her side. Something moved in the distance, but it was all fading to light and shadow, her head filled with a low roar that was growing louder with each passing second. With the last of her strength, she braced her hand against the wall and brought her knee up as hard as she could. The sound that came from Kellogg told her she hadn’t hit her intended target, but the relentless vice around her throat fell away.

Gasping, Ying fell to her knees, chest heaving as she struggled to get a full breath past the raw ache in her throat. A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Kellogg, weapon in hand. Before he could take aim, the butt of a shotgun smashed into the back of his head.

Kellogg stumbled, forcing Ying to roll to the side to get out of the way. She grabbed her knife from the floor and staggered to her feet as the mercenary caught himself. Using both hands, Ying drove the knife into his side with a snarl, clenching her teeth at the rough scrape of bone when the blade met the resistance of his ribs. With a growl, he wrenched away from her, tearing the knife from her grasp. Ying drew her pistol and fired, again and again, until only the click of an empty chamber met her ears.

Kellogg lay in a heap, unmoving, but she kept her gun pointed at him, breathing hard, until Hancock came over and carefully pushed her hand down.

“Pretty sure he’s dead.”

“Good,” Her voice was little more than a croak, and it felt like someone had taken sandpaper to her vocal chords.

Hancock picked up the mercenary’s gun and let out a hum of approval as he examined the weapon in his hands. “Bastard had good taste in firearms, I’ll give him that. Here.” He held the gun out to her. “Probably kicks harder than yours, but nothin’ you can’t handle.”

Ying took the revolver, getting a feel for the weight of it, her mouth curving in a slow grin. It wasn’t the same as her knife – that had actually gotten a taste of her – but her grudge against its former owner was just as personal, and it felt right that she should take it. “I’ll try it out next time we practice,” she said, tucking the gun into her belt.

As she bent down to retrieve her knife, she noticed something off about one of Kellogg’s wounds.

“Hey, Hancock,” she called waving him over. “Look at this.”

Using a foot to nudge the mercenary’s head aside, Ying pointed to the bullet hole with the tip of her knife. “You see that? Too big to be a bullet, and it looks like it’s actually in his brain. Was he even human?”

Hancock shrugged. “Could have been a synth, could have been some crazy cybernetic shit. I wouldn’t put anything past the Institute.”

“Maybe Nick would know.” She pursed her lips and blew out a sigh. “I need to talk to him anyway...let him know Kellogg was a dead end.”

“Couldn’t hurt. I was gonna suggest stoppin’ in Diamond City anyway,” he said, pointing to her neck. “There’s a doctor there, and you’ve already got some nasty lookin’ bruises.”

“I’m fine,” Ying argued with a shake of her head. “Just let me grab this thing and we’ll get out of here.”

Nick had company when they returned to the agency. Ying recognized the reporter she’d met on her first visit to the city and held back a groan. She liked Piper, admired her determination, but she didn’t want _all_ the gritty details of her life published, and anything concerning the Institute was sure to pique the reporter’s interest.

“You’re back,” Nick said in lieu of a greeting. He paused a moment, eyes searching for anyone he might have missed and then sighed. “Without your son. What happened?”

Ying tried to swallow past a painful lump in her already tender throat. Saying it aloud was like admitting her failure, but she owed Nick an explanation after all he’d done for her. “Kellogg worked for the Institute...they’re the ones who have Shaun.”

“The Institute? Piper asked. “Oh boy.”

“I’m sorry,” Nick said, the detective’s voice heavy with disappointment. “That’s going to make this considerably more complicated.

“No one knows where the Institute is – not even Nicky and they made him... but wait!” she snapped her fingers as an idea occurred to her. “This guy just handed them your son, right? He has to have a way in.”

“If he does, he isn’t sharing,” Ying told the reporter, an edge of steel to her tone.

“Because he won’t or...”

“Because he’s dead,” Ying clarified.

“Ah. Well, so much for that.”

“I’d kill him again, in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t have told us anything, anyway.”

“Might be that we don’t actually need the man.” The detective’s brow furrowed in thought. “If he knew a way in, the secret’s still there, locked away in his gray matter.”

Hancock arched a brow. “You thinkin’ Amari?”

“If anyone could get a dead brain to sing, it’d be her,” Nick said with a nod.

“Oh, come on guys. Seriously?” Piper shook her head in disgust. “Gross.”

Ying ignored her, considering the possibility. She knew what service the Memory Den provided, but she wasn’t the type to dwell in the past, and few of her memories were worth reliving. It was still the only place with technology that was anywhere close to what they needed, though, save perhaps the Institute itself.

“I don’t have his brain, and with the way I left it, I’m not sure there’s enough left to be of much use anyway,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “But I took some kind of implant that was wired into his head. I was actually hoping you’d take a look at it and see if you can tell me what the hell it’s for, Nick.”

“Cybernetics, huh? Let’s have a look.”

Ying took the device from her pack and pulled back the scrap of cloth she’d wrapped it in.

“Those circuits look awfully familiar,” Nick said as he examined it. “But I’ve never seen anything quite like this before. I still think our best bet is Amari.”

“You guys go ahead with that,” Piper said, her face contorted in revulsion. “I’ll stay here and do some more research.”

Nick handed the implant back to Ying. “I’ll come along, if you don’t mind. Maybe I can help convince Amari that she needs this as much as you do.”

Ying nodded, and on impulse, placed her hand over the detective’s. “Thanks, Nick. I really appreciate this.”

It was late when they arrived in Goodneighbor, and they had barely set foot inside the town when one of the Watch came over.

“Fahrenheit needs to speak with you, Mayor - you, too, Ying. She said to tell you as soon as you came back.”

Ying looked at Hancock, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. She could understand his bodyguard needing to speak with him about some urgent matter, but it made no sense for Fahrenheit to include her.

Hancock nodded to the man and waited until he left before saying, “We should head up and find out what’s got Fahr postin’ lookouts for us. Den’s closed till morning anyway. You need a place to stay, Nicky, talk to Claire. Tell her I said it’s on me.”

The detective gave Ying and Hancock a long look but agreed. “In the morning, then.”

Nick headed for the Rexford, and Ying followed Hancock to the old Statehouse. Fahrenheit was waiting for them when they got upstairs, and Ying assumed the bodyguard had already been notified of their return.

“What’s goin’ on, Fahr?” Hancock asked, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it and tossed the pack on the coffee table. “Someone die or somethin’?”

Fahrenheit moved to the door and flipped the lock. She leaned against one of the couches and folded her arms across her chest. “Yeah, actually.”

“You shittin’ me? Who?”

“No one I’ve ever seen,” Fahrenheit replied, coming over to help herself to a cigarette. “We found the body a couple of days ago. Someone left it outside, sitting up against the gate.”

“How do you know someone left it?” Ying asked. Downtown was a dangerous place, and it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that some poor bastard tried to get to safety and just didn’t have the strength left to open the gate.

Fahrenheit grabbed something off the desk and came back with a folded sheet of paper and a knife with a lethal, serrated edge. “Because whoever put it there left these,” she said holding the items up. “I think they were meant for you.”

“Me?” Ying asked in disbelief. “Why me?”

The bodyguard handed the paper and knife to Ying. “It’s a note,” she explained. “We found it pinned to the body with the knife, but there’s more. It was a ghoul woman, and she was made to look like Bobbi No-Nose. Same clothes, same haircut. Even the knife wound was in the same place you stabbed Bobbi. I checked with the guys that were there to be sure.”

Fahrenheit shook her head. “I don’t know who, but someone went to a lot of effort to send you a message.”

The blood drained from her face as Ying opened the note and saw a familiar dripping red heart, like a child's finger painting they hadn't been left alone to dry. Her fingers crumpled the edges of the paper as she read, in small, neat writing:

_I told you, I pay my debts. See you around, Killer._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, drug use

Ying’s first instinct was denial. It just wasn’t possible.

_There was no way it could be him._

He was dead, rotting in a sewer tunnel beneath the charnel house he’d called a gallery. She’d stabbed him, for fuck’s sake! Seven inches of steel, right into his soft gut and vital organs. People just didn’t walk away from that kind of thing. Whoever sent the note was just playing some kind of sick joke, trying to get under her skin.

No sooner had Ying accepted that explanation than her mind supplied a dozen different ways to refute it. Her thoughts were in chaos, skipping and tumbling over each other like stones in a polisher. Her hand twitched in reflex at the nearly overwhelming urge to reach for a canister of jet just to slow it all down so she could think _._ There’d be time for that later, she promised herself, curling her fingers into a tight fist to still their tremor. Right now, she needed to keep a clear head and find out what the hell was going on.

The problem was, none of it made any sense, and the idea of some random stranger playing mind games with her was just as illogical as Pickman somehow surviving what should have been a fatal wound, if not more so. Which took her back to square one.

A dull throb behind her eyes warned that this back and forth was heading nowhere but the fast track to a migraine. She crumpled the note in her fist and began to pace the office floor in an attempt to alleviate the restless itch crawling through her veins.

“You know who sent those.” The cadence of Fahrenheit’s words marked them a statement rather than a question, and Ying nodded, pressing the heel of her hand against her temple as the ache in her head shifted.

“You wanna fill us in?” Hancock asked. The mayor was sprawled on the sofa with an arm flung against the back, black eyes following her as she made another circuit past the grimy window.

“Pickman,” Ying bit out in a burst of irritation. _How could he be so fucking calm?_

“I thought you killed him,” Fahrenheit remarked, either oblivious to or ignoring the smaller woman’s agitation.

Ying snorted. “Yeah? That makes two of us. Last time I saw him, he was bleeding out in the bottom of a sewer.”

Neither mayor nor bodyguard were at fault, but she would risk their ire before she let the mask fall and reveal how close she was to cracking. The last few days had been difficult enough without adding another stone to the growing pile. The slightest waver, the smallest slip, and the whole thing would come crashing down, burying her beneath the weight of it all.

“You sure he’s your guy?”

On her way by, Ying snatched a cigarette from the coffee table. It wasn’t what she was craving, but it was something to do.

“I don’t know.” A heavy sigh escaped her, along with a cloud of smoke. She smoothed the worst of the creases from the note, the deep rust of the painted heart taunting as she held the scrap of paper out to the mayor. “It’s vague, but it’s a direct reference to the conversation we had. And there’s the logo...”

“Yeah, that ain’t paint,” Hancock agreed, a crease forming where his brows would be as he set the letter down. “So it’s Pickman, or someone who knows enough to act like him.”

It was an unexpected relief to know someone else had arrived at the same conclusion she had. Nothing had really changed – there was still an unknown threat aimed at her – but it helped take away some of the awful surreality of the situation. If it was real, she could fight it.

“There’s one way to be sure,” Ying said, heading for the door. “I’m going back to the gallery. If Pickman’s dead, there should still be enough of him left to prove it. If he’s not...then at least I know what I’m dealing with.”

“Whoa, wait,” Hancock called. The ghoul was off the couch and at her side before she could flip the lock. “You’re goin’ now?” He sighed. “Stop and think a minute, doll. This asshole could be waiting for you.”

Ying nodded and raised the serrated blade that was left with the letter. “If he is, then I can return this. And this time that fucker’s not getting up again.”

Ying and Hancock crept through the ruined streets of downtown Boston, staying in the shadows whenever possible. A new group of raiders had taken over a crumbling restaurant close enough to Goodneighbor to have Hancock muttering beneath his breath, but they were able to sneak by without attracting their attention.

From what they could see from the cul-de-sac, the Pickman Gallery appeared deserted and Ying had to wonder if that was because of it’s previous reputation, or something more ominous. She kept her pistol ready as she pushed open the door, just in case the gallery wasn’t as abandoned as it seemed.

The stench hit her first, cloying and so powerful it was like a physical blow. Already nauseous, Ying stumbled to a corner as her stomach revolted. She didn’t remember the smell being this bad the first time around, but it didn’t look like anyone had been through here since. Pickman’s main attraction had an obvious shelf life, and it was at least two months past the expiration date.

“Ugh,” Hancock groaned in disgust, a hand clapped over his nasal cavity. “This is why I got no taste for art. You alright?”

Ying took a can of water from her pack, trying in vain to rinse the bitter taste of bile from her mouth. “Yeah. Let’s try to make this quick.”

“Agreed.”

They searched the upstairs first, but all they found were the decomposing bodies of raiders.

“You know, when I gave you that job, I didn’t mean for you to actually bring me here,” Hancock muttered, stepping around a suspicious dark stain that had soaked into the splintered floor.

“You didn’t have to come along,” Ying pointed out, rolling her eyes at the ghoul. “Are you really going to bitch the whole time?”

Hancock shrugged and gave her a wry grin. “Probably.”

“Try to reign it in and I’ll buy you a drink later.”

“It’s my bar, doll. My drinks are always free -you’re gonna have to come up with a better bribe than that.”

Ying shook her head, biting back a smirk; now was hardly the time for humor. She flicked her hand back in a light slap aimed at Hancock’s chest. “I’ll think of something. Come on. Pickman was hiding in the sewer tunnels under here last time.”

She led Hancock down the stairs to the basement, and while she hadn’t gone over every detail of the place her last visit, nothing unusual stood out to her. It wasn’t until she took a good look at the raised slab of foundation Pickman used as his work area that she noticed the painting. Ying was certain that it wasn’t the same painting that had been there before.

At first glance, it’s unusually vivid background – streaks and splashes of sickly yellow – seemed in contrast to most of Pickman’s work. Judging from what was displayed upstairs, he seemed to prefer a more somber palette. Then she saw the small, shadowed figure, featureless and entirely unaware of the bloodied knife aimed at it’s back, and a chill went through her. It turned into a full-bodied shudder when she noticed that the swirls and splotches she’d assumed were part of the background were actually eyes, dozens of them, hidden with careful skill into the texture of the paint itself.

“Creepy,” Hancock murmured from behind her.

“No shit.” Ying touched a corner of the canvas with a fingertip, grimacing at the tackiness of it. “This is definitely new.”

“You think this is Pickman?”

“It looks like it,” she sighed. “It seems like his style, anyway. I don’t suppose he signs his work...”

Ying tilted the canvas to look for a signature and spotted the corner of a folded sheet of paper tucked under it. She went to pull it free, and then jerked her hand back as though it had burned her. In the same small, elegant script as the note left in Goodneighbor was her name.

“He knows my name,” she whispered, turning large, panicked eyes to her companion. “Hancock, he knows my name!”

The ghoul’s expression flickered between concern and puzzlement. “Everyone in Goodneighbor knows your name, doll; you tend to stand out. Wouldn’t be hard to find if someone was interested. This guy’s just tryin’ to mess with your head.”

_And doing an excellent job._

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

This wasn’t the same world she left behind when she entered the vault. There was no surveillance now, no authorities to evade. Here, she’d hesitated only a moment before giving her real name, secure in the knowledge that the time of aliases was past. She didn’t have to worry about being dragged from her home in the middle of the night by men with guns and questions she couldn’t answer, or taken back to jumpsuits and fences wrapped with barbed wire. The world was different and so was she, but years of ingrained fear wasn’t so easily set aside.

Before she could lose her nerve, Ying snatched up the sheet of paper and unfolded it. The garish heart Pickman used for his logo glared back at her, a perfect copy of the last save the vibrant color. Any doubts she had about the author of the letters vanished as she read the short note.

 _As you were the inspiration for_ _this_ _piece, I thought it only fitting you should have it. I call it ‘_ _The Most Unkindest Cut of All’._

_Until we meet again, my little muse._

She stared at the words until they blurred on the page in a swirl of black and dripping red, her heart hammering in her chest as the edges of her vision went fuzzy and gray. For a moment, she feared she would faint.

The reference Pickman had chosen for the title of his painting was not lost on her. Worse, she couldn’t imagine many others would be able to say the same. That he had both named her and assumed she would recognize an obscure line from an author that was all but lost to history had her stomach twisting in terror. How much did he know?

“Stay with me, Ying.”

_I need to get out!_

Her mind screamed the words at her, but when she tried to say them aloud, she couldn’t force them past the sudden tightness of her throat. Her skin prickled and felt too tight, beads of sweat dampening her forehead, the fetid air of the basement suffocating. She was in a tomb of damp stone, the walls much too close and creeping closer with every shallow breath.

“Talk to me, doll.”

Ying gave a frantic nod, not sure of what she was trying to say. “Not- not here.” Her eyes darted to the stairs and Hancock seemed to take the hint because he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him as he headed up the steps.

It was raining when they got outside, but Ying didn’t even feel the cold drops soaking into her hair and clothes as she pulled away and staggered to the wall. Bracing a hand against the coarse brick, she doubled over and heaved until her ribs ached from the strain, but her stomach had nothing left to give. She wiped a shaking hand over her mouth when she was sure the wave of nausea had passed and walked back to Hancock on legs that felt too weak to hold her.

They found shelter in an old housing complex. The doors and windows had been boarded, but age and the elements had rotted the wood, and it wasn’t difficult to force their way in.

Choosing the nearest corner, Ying sank to the floor, her back against the peeling and stained paper that once decorated the wall. She didn’t speak as she searched her pack, a soft sigh escaping as her fingers closed around smooth plastic. She brought the inhaler to her lips and pressed the canister, taking in as large a breath as she could hold. Exhaling slowly, Ying let her head loll back against the wall and closed her eyes as the vapor smothered the flames racing through her blood.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to find Hancock sitting in front of her, eyes appraising as he calmly smoked a cigarette. A small tin of mentats by his feet told her he’d taken the opportunity to indulge his own craving.

“You okay?”

Ying shrugged and looked away. After what Hancock had witnessed from her in the gallery, she wouldn’t insult him by lying to his face, but that didn’t mean she was going to volunteer to try to explain the mess going on in her head, either. She was calmer now that the effects of withdrawal weren’t twisting her insides into knots, and thoroughly embarrassed that anyone had seen her like that, though she allowed a silent, grudging admission that she was glad it was him and not someone else.

Now that her thoughts had returned to some semblance of order, Ying took advantage of the quiet to go over it all again: Pickman’s use of her name, the title and composition of the painting, the subtle threat that lay in his confident assurance that they _would_ meet again. She’d assumed he was psychotic, and while his actions hadn’t done much to disabuse her of that notion, she realized now that there was far more to it than that.

However twisted his concept of justice, this was not a man out of touch with reality. He’d tracked her to Goodneighbor and left the first letter where he’d known it would be brought to her attention, and then correctly assumed her next action would be to return to the gallery. Not a brilliant deduction – she’d had nowhere else to look, after all – but logical enough to indicate he wasn’t barking at the moon. He was resilient enough to survive her attack, intelligent enough to hunt down personal details, and vindictive enough to set up this game of cat and mouse.

For all his pretty speech and manners, Ying had underestimated him and if there were to be consequences for that, however frightening they might be, she was adamant that it all fall on her and not some innocent bystander. She wasn’t going to let another person die for her mistakes. She’d been making so many lately.

Before the war, she knew how the world worked. It was cold, and it was corrupt, but she’d carved her place in it. She’d clawed her way from the streets to a position where she could extend a hand to help others do the same, but she was always careful to keep them at arms length. It was just safer that way - for them and for her.

In many ways, the world was different now, and she was still trying to make sense of it. The restrictions of the past had been lifted and she was no longer under the pressure of trying to live up to the expectations of a society she had no desire to please. All of that was gone now, the pieces reset, and it was too easy to get caught up in that heady rush of freedom.

She couldn’t look at the present without seeing the past that was still so fresh in her mind, like two photographs that had been superimposed on one another. It was difficult at times to determine which image was real and that somehow made it all the more unreal. Ying had never been one to consider consequences, and her actions seemed to matter even less when she was half convinced she would wake one day and realize this had all been some bizarre dream.

Sinjin had been a brutal reminder that this was her reality, and if that hadn’t been enough, Pickman was just waiting to give her another. She’d gotten careless and let her guard down. Hell, Hancock had seen more of her in a few short months than she’d shown Nate in several years of marriage. And allowing that was the problem. She was breaking the rules, blurring the lines, and one person had already been hurt because of it. It had to stop.

Ying stared at the scuffed floor between her boots as she tried to think of a way to tell Hancock the decision she’d reached, unprepared for the pang of loss that tightened her chest. In the beginning, she went to Goodneighbor because her options had been limited. She hadn’t expected the town to become her haven, or that she would come to care for the misfits that called it home, but she had, and it wasn’t until she thought of leaving that she realized how much.

Best to just get it out and over with; quick, like ripping off a bandaid.

“I think,” Ying began with a quiet sigh. “I think I should stay away from Goodneighbor for a while.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Hancock’s expression was neutral, but there was a stiffness about his features that told Ying it was forced.

“You told me that night at the ‘Rail that this shit with Pickman could have spilled over. Well, it has,” she said waving the letter. “And I’m trying to keep you and yours out of it.”

Ying’s jaw clenched when the ghoul just laughed.

“Bullshit. You wanna play the martyr, I’m not gonna stop you, but at least be honest with yourself, here: Goodneighbor ain’t the only reason you’re runnin’.”

“Fuck you,” Ying spat. “It’s been, what? Three months or so? Don’t act like you know me well enough to make that kind of call.”

“I know more about runnin’ than you might think, doll. And you’re more transparent than you want to admit.

“You wanna skip? Fine. But if it’s Goodneighbor you’re worried about, tell me what’s got ya so concerned. I’m the mayor, y’know? Got people to look out for.”

_And fuck him double for turning this around on her._

Ying was on her feet before she knew it, hands balled into fists, arms held stiffly at her sides.

“Don’t you dare fucking imply that I don’t care about Goodneighbor, you bastard! Pickman’s pretty much made it clear that he takes offense to attempted murder and I guess that’s fair considering I fucked up in not finishing him off, but guess who he has it out for? You were there the last time that happened. Kent _died_ because Sinjin wanted to get to _me_. I’m not going to let that happen to you or Daisy or anyone else!”

Hancock smirked up at her, seemingly unfazed by her tirade. “I don’t doubt that. But what I said was that ain’t the _only_ reason.”

She didn’t know if it was the comedown from the jet, the fact that she hadn’t slept in over a day, or everything in between, but Ying was suddenly exhausted. She cocked her hip against the wall to help support her weight and folded her arms against her.

“Goodneighbor’s the only part you should be worried about. You were an extra set of eyes; someone that wouldn’t give me shit over taking out the trash.” There was a note of confusion in her voice as she tried to puzzle her way through it.

“And you were a way out of Goodneighbor. We’re even. But it’s more than that now, ain’t it?”

“Why do you even care?”

Any trace of humor vanished as Hancock’s face hardened. “Because you’re the only one I’ve met in a long, long time that actually gives a shit. The entire fuckin’ world must be a nightmare for you, but you still try to make it better. You have any idea how rare that is?”

Now it was Ying’s turn to laugh. It never failed to amuse how many people assumed Pre-War life was like the pictures in the magazines. Pretty houses and picket fences instead of endless wars and bureaucratic bullshit. She slid down the wall until she was seated, leaning forward to take the pack of cigarettes Hancock had left on the floor.

“The world was a nightmare then, too,” she said, settling back and lighting her cigarette with a flick of her thumb. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped an arm around them “At least it was for people like me.”

Hancock looked at her curiously. “Like you?”

Ying gave him a humorless grin and she took a long draw from her cigarette. “Communists. Chinese-Americans, actually, but most people didn’t bother with the distinction. We were all spies, as far as they were concerned, so the government sent soldiers to round us up and ship us to these prison camps.

They came for my father and ended up taking me, too. I was just a kid, but I guess you’re never too young for espionage.” Ying let out a bitter chuckle and shook her head at the absurdity of it.

“My father died there, but a small group of us managed to get out. It wasn’t pretty. People died when they shouldn’t have, people that might _not_ have died if I’d have just turned the fuck around and helped them up - but honestly? I didn’t care. I’d probably have sold my own mother for a chance out of that shithole.”

Ying gave the ghoul a nasty smile, eyes narrowed as she added, “ _That_ is who I am, Hancock.” Don’t put me on some kind of pedestal, because you don’t have a fucking clue.”

“How old were you?” Hancock asked. “When you got out?”

“Sixteen? Seventeen?” Ying shrugged. “Somewhere around there.”

“Christ, doll! You were _still_ a fuckin’ kid!”

“I was old enough to know it was them or me and whose side I was on. It wasn’t theirs. If someone couldn’t keep up, they got left behind – just another obstacle between me and the guards.”

She didn’t add that there were nights when she still saw them, expressions resigned as their eyes dimmed in despair. They all knew the stakes when they started making escape plans, but it didn’t stop her from wondering over a decade later if it could have been different.

Hancock looked like he might argue with her and then shook his head. The ghoul stretched his legs out in front of him and played with the lid on his tin of mentats, flipping it open and closed. “So that’s what- ten years or so ‘til your two-century nap?”

Ying blinked at the question. That hadn’t been the response she was expecting. Anger, perhaps. Possibly disgust at her callous disregard for another life, but not this casual inquiry about her past. She searched his face for some clue to what he was playing at but his ebony eyes held only mild curiosity. “Close enough.”

“What happened in between?”

“I was a pissed off junkie who liked to vandalize public property,” Ying snorted. She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Not a lot of personal growth, here.”

“I met Nate, we decided to give domesticity a shot, so I managed to act like I had my shit together long enough to get married and go through law school. I got knocked up, the bombs fell, the end - Ying-hua in a nutshell.”

“Wait, law school?”

“That’s what you got from all that, huh?”

The ghoul smirked from beneath his hat. “You go from vandalism to learnin’ law? That’s gotta be some growth right there, doll. Or an identity crisis.”

“Fuck off.” She attempted to glare but couldn’t quite hold back a grin. “You can’t properly exploit the law until you know how it works. There’s plenty of loopholes for the government to use against its people. My job was finding new ones to use against the government.” Ying looked down at her hands and started picking at a broken fingernail. “I might have fucked everything else up, but I was a damn good lawyer.”

“Sounds fancy. Was the pay good?”

“For some, it was. I worked in civil litigation - discrimination lawsuits, wrongful termination – that kind of thing. Basically, defending people from assholes with power and money. A lot of my clients couldn’t afford to pay, so I took their cases _pro bono._ Sometimes I got a small percentage if they were awarded damages or we were able to get a settlement, but if the court ruled against their lawsuit, I didn’t get paid.” She waved a dismissive hand. “It wasn’t about the money, anyway.”

Hancock went silent, and when she looked up, he was watching her, eyes intent. “That’s the person I’m talking about, Ying,” he said quietly. “The one who helps someone without expectin’ somethin’ in return. You might have fucked up now and then, but let me tell ya, sister, we all have. Hasn’t stopped you from tryin’ to make it right.”

Ying flicked her cigarette away and shook her head. “Yeah. That person also got Kent killed.”

“Listen,” Hancock sighed, the barest hint of a growl in the word. “And actually let it sink in this time: Kent _wasn’t_ your fault. You did somethin’ for him no one else would. Most folks thought he was crazy, but you heard what he had to say, and the two of you actually made a difference. There’s one less asshole in the world killin’ people for a few caps, one less person trying to get kids hooked on chems before they’re smart enough to realize what they’re signin’ up for, and you took out Sinjin and his entire band of raiders. That was all just for Kent. You need me to explain how much that library meant to Daisy?”

“You were there for most of that,” Ying pointed out. “I didn’t do it alone.”

“But I wouldn’t have been without you. Kent could barely look me in the eye, and Daisy never would have asked me about the library. I couldn’t send our people up against super mutants just for a bunch of old books, and she knew that, but you didn’t even hesitate. Just because it was important to her.”

He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Look, you care about the people in Goodneighbor and wanna keep this Pickman asshole away from ‘em. I get that. But if you think that feeling’s not mutual, you haven’t been payin’ attention.

“You’re the best friend I got, Ying, and that ain’t somethin’ I’m willin’ to just give up on.”

Ying looked away as she blinked a few times, blaming the sting in her eyes on her lack of sleep. To her, a friend had always been someone to have fun with, a partner in crime. She could trust a friend at her back but no further. Hancock said the word like it meant something special, and she felt like she’d just been disarmed with words alone.

He’d seen the worst of her; the violence and the rage that she tried so hard to keep in check, the biting sarcasm she hid behind like a shield, the chems and the booze and the control she both strived for and loathed at the same time. She was a bundle of contradictions, a tangled mess she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to unravel, and somehow, it hadn’t stopped him from believing in the best of her.

Years of telling herself she didn’t care what others thought of her had made the lie convincing enough that she could believe it, pulling it around herself like armor, but a simple statement from Hancock had stripped that away and left her reeling. She didn’t know if she would ever see the same qualities he saw in her, but it made her wonder if she could reach inside and find the person he spoke so highly of. It made her want to _try_ ; not for him, but because of him.

She didn’t have a word to describe what that meant to her, what _he_ meant to her, but maybe she didn’t need one. He was just Hancock, and in that moment she realized that no matter how selfish it made her, no matter how many rules she broke or lines that she crossed, she couldn’t lose him.

“I’m not good at this shit,” she finally murmured. “People get too close, and it stops making sense. I can fake it for a time, but the truth is, I don’t know what to do with any of it.”

Hancock grinned, but his eyes were gentle. “First time you’ve been honest about that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not making any promises for the future,” she sighed. “This friend thing? I’m not sure I even know what that means anymore.”

“It means the people you decided were worth takin’ a risk for deserve the chance to make that same choice before you go runnin’ off on ‘em.”

Ying nodded slowly, hoping this wasn’t just another mistake. “I’ll...I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m askin’.”

Several minutes went by in silence, each lost to their thoughts before Hancock leaned forward and took Pickman’s letter from where Ying had let it fall to the floor.

“Does this mean somethin’ to you?” he asked.

“‘The most unkindest cut’? Yeah,” Ying nodded. “Shakespeare. It’s from an old play about a guy that was assassinated. His best friend helped stab him to death. I’m not sure where Pickman’s drawing the connection, but he’s got a definite theme of betrayal going with that painting. And it’s not just that. He knows my name, and he assumed I’d get the reference, Hancock, so he must know about the vault. He’s taken a personal interest in me and I’d really rather he didn’t. Getting stalked by a psychopath is not on my list of ‘Fun Things To Do in the Commonwealth’.”

“Maybe you should let Nicky know about this guy. See what he can dig up.”

“No. Not yet, anyway. He’s already helping me with Shaun and I don’t want this getting back to Piper…oh fuck,” Ying groaned. “Piper.”

“She published that article.”

“Yeah,” Ying sighed. “The first time I went to Diamond City. Well, I think we can safely assume that was probably his source.”

“I’ll put the word out once we get back. If anyone comes around askin’ about you, we’ll know.”

“I’m not going to just hide from this creep, Hancock.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t expect you to, doll. But until we get some idea of where he’s holed up, there’s not much to do about it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Ying had the unsettling feeling Pickman was just getting started. She hated waiting around for him to make a move, but Hancock was right. With so little to go on, he’d stay one step ahead of them. He’d slip up eventually; she just hoped he did before it was too late and someone got hurt.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of drug use, and some language, but no major wanrings

Amari was looking at her like she was crazy. Ying had been on the receiving end of that same look enough times to wonder herself, but Amari could think whatever she liked. Without the doctor’s help, the Institute’s secrets would die with Kellogg. Ying wasn’t going to let this go.

“You’re asking me to defile a corpse!” The doctor’s eyes bulged, her mouth agape in disbelief.

Ying would have found the other woman’s expression comical were it not for the fact that her only chance of making it to the Institute was currently hanging by a very precarious thread.

“Not really,” she was quick to refute. “That part’s been done. All I’m asking is that you see if you can find anything.”

Amari paled. “You’re saying you’ve already….”

“All taken care of.”

“Kellogg was working for the Institute, Amari,” Nick interjected when the doctor began shaking her head. He shot Ying a look of exasperation before returning his attention to the other woman.“He had inside knowledge. This could be the break everyone’s been waiting for. Can you really afford to pass on this?”

“I...I suppose I can take a look,” Amari sighed. She squared her shoulders, voice sharp as she added, “Though I make no guarantees. The memory simulators require intact, _living_ brains to function. What you’re asking has never been done before.”

Ying nodded. “Understood. Thank you, Doctor,” she added after a moment, figuring a bit of politeness couldn’t hurt.

“Don’t thank me yet. I assume you have it with you?”

“What’s left of it.”

“That is hardly encouraging.” Amari’s eyes narrowed when the smaller woman handed her the synthetic implant from Kellogg. “This is _not_ a brain.”

“It was in his brain,” Ying shrugged. “I’m pretty sure there’s even some brain still attached.”

The doctor examined the device, pulling a lit lantern closer to get a better look.“That’s the hippocampus! And some sort of neural interface.”

“It’s still good, then, right?”

Amari pursed her lips. “Possibly. The tissue doesn’t appear to have degraded so I assume the tech itself is keeping it stable. There’s still a problem, however. As well-preserved as the hippocampus is, I can’t access the memories without a compatible port.”

Ying didn’t have time to register disappointment before Nick was speaking again. “I’m an old synth. If the Institute built me out of similar parts, we might still have a way in.”

“I’m not an expert here, but that sounds dangerous, Nick. We can find another way – one that doesn’t involve making you some kind of lab rat.”

“Your friend is right about the danger, Mr. Valentine,” Amari agreed. “There could be long-term side effects, and I wouldn’t know where to begin listing the risks involved.”

“Don’t bother, doc, just plug me in.” The detective’s glowing eyes fell on Ying. “Look, kid, we don’t have another way. My warranty ran out a long time ago. You just focus on finding your boy.”

Tracking down a mercenary was one thing, but allowing that mercenary’s memories to be loaded into his head was something else entirely. Nick was going well beyond his job description in this and despite her gratitude, she was uncomfortable with the amount of risk he was assuming on her behalf.

“Thanks, Nick.” It seemed inadequate, considering the circumstances, but she wasn’t sure a proper response existed for this type of situation.

Seeing that he would not be dissuaded, Amari sighed and waved to a chair. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Valentine.”

“If I start cackling like a grizzled old mercenary, pull me out, doc.”

Ying smirked at the detective’s attempt at a joke, more for his sake than actual humor, and watched closely for any signs that more than Kellogg’s memories were being transferred as Amari began connecting the interface.

“Keep talking to me, Mr. Valentine. Any changes in your cognitive functions could be dire.” The doctor stepped back when she was through. “Are you feeling any different?”

“There’s just...flashes and static.” Ying didn’t think she imagined the strain in the detective’s voice. “I can’t make any of it out, doc.”

“I was afraid of this.” Amari glanced at her as she explained, “The mnemonic impressions are encoded.”

 

“You mean like encryption?” Ying latched onto the first analogy that made any sense. The brain was just an organic computer, right?

The doctor nodded. “And we don’t have the password.”

“I’ve got some decent hacking skills, but I’m guessing that’s not going to work here.”

“Not like you’re thinking, but the same basic idea.” Amari tapped her chin with a finger, her brows creasing as she considered the problem. “The encryption is too strong for a single mind...but we could use two. We load both you and Mr. Valentine into the loungers - run your cognitive functions in parallel. He’ll act as a host, and your consciousness will drive through whatever memories we find.”

Ying nodded, pleased that she would be able to do her part; she hated standing around. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

“Just sit down over there,” Amari instructed, pointing to an empty lounger. “And...keep your fingers crossed.”

“See you on the other side, kid.”

She didn’t let herself think about what she was doing as she shot the detective a grin brimming with confidence she didn’t feel and settled back into the memory pod. Her heart raced as the screen came down, closing her in, and Ying gripped the armrests so tightly she could feel her fingernails bite into the padding. She could hear Amari speaking in the background, but couldn’t make out what the doctor was saying over the loud echo of her own harsh breaths in her ears.

It was too small, too similar to the cryo chambers back in the vault, _too much..._ and then the world disappeared in a burst of white.

When her vision returned, Ying found herself in a black void, a path cobbled together from structures that resembled what she distantly remembered to be neurons leading away from her. She took a moment to take stock of her surroundings and truly appreciate that she was actually inside Kellogg’s brain, or at least, a very convincing simulation. Before she could figure out how she felt about that, Amari’s voice was all around her.

“It appears to be working, although the memories are quite fragmentary. I’ll try to guide you through what’s intact, and we’ll just have to hope we can find one containing some clue to the location of the Institute.”

Following the glowing path proved more unnerving at first than she could have expected. There was no comforting sensation of solid ground beneath her, but neither was she falling, despite how her mind insisted she should be. Here, she had no physical form, and the absence was troubling – not because it hindered her in any way, but because it didn’t.

Even at her most detached, Ying was still aware of her body, no matter how distant. In this place, she was a nebulous cloud of cognizance bound to an infinite plane of nothing. In some strange way she had yet to make sense of, the vast emptiness was just as confining as the lounger she’d left behind.

She wondered if everyone’s experience at the Memory Den was like this. If not, was it the degradation of the memories, or was this dark abyss a reflection of the man himself?

“I’m registering an increase in your vital signs.” Amari cautioned. “I understand it can be disorienting, but try to remain calm.”

Had she a voice, Ying would have laughed. ‘Disorienting’ didn’t begin to cover it, but she needed to get it together before the doctor decided she’d had enough and pulled her out. She couldn’t afford to screw this up – not after Nick had so casually gambled his life to bring her here.

Ying turned toward the first memory, and from the shadows emerged a small room where a woman and child were seated. She heard Kellogg’s voice as she got closer, a moment of private introspection preserved in the depths of his mind, and realized that the child sitting on the filthy mattress was him. The memory played out like an old holotape, and she watched as Kellogg’s mother handed the boy a gun – the same weapon that had killed Nate, the one Ying now wore on her hip – and declared it would keep him safe. It seemed Kellogg had taken that advice to heart and then added his own spin, for all the good it had done him in the end. She only hoped he hadn’t died without seeing the irony of it all for himself.

He was older in the next memory, a grown man with a wife and child of his own, and all the doubts and fears that went along with that. He didn’t share them, but from Ying’s unique vantage, he didn’t have to. She could _feel_ them, whether she wanted to or not. Traces of emotions clung to his memories like stubborn ghosts.

_Whatever made me think a guy like me should have had a daughter…_

Anyone that took a peek inside her own head would hear a host of similar thoughts woven into her memories of Shaun. The parallel brought an unwanted pang of empathy that squirmed in the back of her brain like a restless animal and it howled in remembered loss when a wave of grief crashed against her. She knew the feeling; it consumed from the inside out until only black rage could fill the hollow left in it’s wake.

And just like that, any budding sympathy for the mercenary wilted and died.

He _knew_. The bastard knew what it was like to carve something for himself from the scraps life tossed him, only to have some asshole come along and rip it away. He knew the anger of being helpless, the sick guilt of a broken promise to protect – she could feel it seeping into the amorphous edges where the echo of his consciousness bled into hers – and yet it hadn’t stopped him from inflicting that same nightmare onto her and who knew how many others.

Any common ground she might have with the mercenary was the result of what he’d done to her, to Nate and Shaun. She couldn’t forgive that. She wouldn’t.

Amari urged her on to another memory and it was the push Ying needed to continue. The next memories held nothing of interest for her, and she felt her attention start to drift. Until she saw the dark underground corridors of vault 111.

Some part of her had been expecting to see this. Hell, some part of her would probably have been offended if killing her husband and stealing her child had slipped the mercenary’s mind. The scene was one she’d watched many times, both in her nightmares and her waking thoughts, but this was the first time she’d ever experienced it from another point of view.

She couldn’t look away as it all happened again right in front of her eyes: Nate’s feeble attempts at a struggle, a single shot ringing out, the slump of his body as he fell back and Shaun was taken from his arms. The next part changed, and it wasn’t Kellogg’s face she was staring into through blood-spattered glass, but her own.

Her lips were curled back into a feral snarl, her mouth moving in threats that never made it past the walls of her pod. There was a vague sense of regret from Kellogg, but it was more for a job gone wrong than the killing of an innocent man. He was calm, and the lack of emotion helped contain the seething hatred that threatened to engulf her thoughts as he turned and left the vault with her son.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that again,” Dr. Amari apologized. “There’s another intact memory. Whenever you’re ready.”

Ying thought she was prepared, that the vault would be the worst Kellogg could throw at her. She was wrong. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten that the mercenary had been seen with a boy in Diamond City, it was that she’d never truly believed that that boy was Shaun. Looking at him now, she knew she’d been wrong on that count, too.

“Is that your son? This memory seems to be very recent. I think that means we’re getting close.”

Ying heard the doctor’s voice but she wasn’t listening to her words. All her attention was centered on the child sitting on the dirty floor of Kellogg’s hideout.

It didn’t matter that he was an infant, only four months old, the last time she’d gazed into those eyes. She still recognized them, even after all this time. They were the same eyes she saw whenever she looked into a mirror, and the boy they belonged to was definitely her son.

He’d grown into a handsome child, with the shape of her mouth and the same jet black hair. His nose was his father’s, though, as was his height. At only ten years old, he was tall for his age – probably close to her height, but it was difficult to say for sure when she was seeing him through another’s eyes.

She wanted to weep for all the time that had been lost, and she wanted to collapse in relief at what she was seeing. He wasn’t what she expected, he wasn’t the baby she knew, but he was safe and he was whole and for that moment, it had to be enough.

Another man appeared, dressed in a long black coat with dark glasses concealing his eyes. There was a brief flare of alarm, but it faded into recognition. Kellogg had known this man. Ying kept her attention on Shaun, but she listened closely as the men discussed a rogue Institute scientist named Virgil. If Kellogg hadn’t managed to complete the mission to track him down in the Glowing Sea and kill him, finding the scientist herself was a possibility if the mercenary’s memories failed to provide what she needed.

Anger flared when she heard Shaun ask the other man if he was taking him home to his father, and for a moment, she was glad Nate wasn’t there to hear it. For all of the problems they’d had between them, Nate had been a good father. Shaun had meant the world to him, and it made her sick that someone behind his kidnapping was using that title when his true father had never been given the chance.

Shaun moved to the stranger’s side with no sign of hesitation and the man uttered a phrase that Ying didn’t have time to make sense of before they were gone in two brilliant flashes of blue light.

“Teleportation! Now it all makes sense. No one has found the entrance because there _is_ no entrance.”

Well. Shit.

Her mind was still struggling to absorb everything she’d learned. It seemed like no sooner did she find a way around one obstacle, than another was placed in her path, taller and wider than the previous. But she was so close! All she had to do was figure out how to use tech that was taken straight from the realm of comic books and scifi novels.

The walls of Kellogg’s house in Diamond City went misty and white, and then she was staring at the monitor of the memory pod, back in the body she’d left behind. Ying pushed the screen up to exit the lounger and blinked as the dim light pierced her eyes.

“Slow movements, okay?” Dr. Amari appeared in front of her, hands held out in a gesture for caution. “We don’t know what kind of side effects the procedure might have had.”

“I’m fine,” Ying replied automatically as she stood. “How’s Nick?”

The doctor nodded slowly, but looked unconvinced. “Mr. Valentine is waiting for you upstairs. I unplugged him first and removed the implant while you were still waking up.There appears to be no lasting effects on his cognitive processes, but at the moment, it’s you I’m more concerned with. You’ll need to monitor yourself for signs of long-term damage.” She hesitated and then asked, “Are you ready to talk about what happened in there?”

Ying sighed. She didn’t want to talk about it, and that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon, but the doctor didn’t look as though she was going to accept that answer easily. “You saw everything I did,” she shrugged. “What is there to talk about?”

“You witnessed a man’s life, in a way few ever can. You can’t tell me that didn’t have an effect on you.”

“Oh, it had an effect.” Ying’s laugh was a harsh sound, devoid of merriment. “Though I doubt it’s the one you’re looking, doctor.”

“He was a human being. He had reasons for being what he was, however cruel.”

“He was a monster!” the smaller woman growled, dark eyes flashing. “And he willingly became one. His ‘reasons’ don’t mean shit, and they sure as hell don’t justify what he did. The only reason my son is even alive is because he wasn’t ordered to kill him. Am I supposed to care that he might have had felt bad for it later if he had?” Ying shook her head. “Kellogg was a rabid dog that needed to be put down. If you were expecting remorse or forgiveness, I have none, and I won’t apologize for it.”

“I...suppose I can’t blame you for that,” Amari sighed. “But we’re getting off track. The important thing is that we know the Institute’s secret. What do we do now?”

“I find out how it works and get Shaun back.”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

“I’m going to find that scientist Kellogg was supposed to kill. Virgil.”

The doctor nodded. “A rogue Institute scientist could answer all sorts of questions. Where did the memory say he was? The Glowing Sea?” Amari frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. No one goes there – not even if they’re desperate. The radiation there could kill a man in seconds.”

“Which is why it’s the perfect place to hide,” Ying pointed out, already making plans for what she would need.

“If you’re going to try to find this Virgil, you’ll need a way to combat the radiation. There are chemical compounds – Rad-X, Radaway – you’d need as much as you could carry. Maybe more. Ideally, an environmental suit would be better, or one of those suits of power armor.”

“I’ll figure it out. I’m going to go check on Nick.”

“Good luck... and be safe.”

“...Thanks.” Ying gave the doctor an awkward nod and headed for the stairs.

She found the detective in the waiting area of The Memory Den and hurried over to him. “Hey, Nick. That was some crazy shit, right?”

Glowing yellow eyes turned to her, but it wasn’t Nick looking through them. “Hope you got what you were looking for inside my head.” Nick’s mouth moved, but it was Kellogg’s voice speaking to her. “I was right. Should have killed you while you were on ice.”

Ying’s hand moved to the hilt of her knife as she took a cautious step back. “You should have,” she agreed, unable to keep a note of smugness from her tone. “But you didn’t. Your mistake.”

Nick blinked and shook his head. “What are you talking about?” His gaze fell to her hand and he frowned as he looked up at her. “You mind filling me in here, kid? Preferably before you decide using that on me is a good idea.”

She let her hand fall to her side, but kept her stance even in case she needed to act quickly. “Just a precaution. You sounded like Kellogg there for a minute. Are you feeling okay?”

“Kellogg, huh? Amari said there might be some mnemonic impressions left over. Anyway, I feel fine. Did you find what you needed?”

“Not exactly, but I’m one step closer. I need to go to the Glowing Sea. Hopefully, this Institute scientist hiding out there can tell me the rest.”

“The Glowing Sea’s a dangerous place. Radiation isn’t much of an issue for me, but you’re going to need some kind of protection. An old suit of power armor might be just the thing.”

“Yeah,” Ying gave the detective a weak laugh as she sank down beside him. Kellogg didn’t seem to be a threat anymore, and even if he was still in there somewhere, she was too tired to care. “And the only way to find one I can be certain still seals properly is to join the Brotherhood of Assholes. No thanks.” She covered her mouth against a yawn so wide it made her jaw pop and then propped her head on her hand. “Like I told Amari, I’ll figure something out.”

“When was the last time you slept, kid?” Nick asked, looking at her closely.

“I don’t know.” Ying rolled her shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “It all starts to run together after the first twenty-four hours or so. I’ll get around to it. I just wanted to see how you were doing after all that.”

“Nothing this old synth can’t handle.”

Ying nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. Thanks, Nick. For doing that.”

“Anytime, Ying. I’ll be around for a bit before I head back to Diamond City. If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. See you later, Nick.”

Ying left the Den and headed for her room at the Rexford. There were a dozen little details she needed to work out before she would be ready to hazard the Glowing Sea, but she was too drained to give it much thought right now. Virgil could wait. The Glowing Sea wasn’t going anywhere, and as long as the Institute was after the scientist, neither was he.

Dropping onto the rumpled bed, Ying dug a syringe of med-x from her pack and pulled the cap off with her teeth. The chem had the unwanted side effect of leaving her groggy and nauseated when she woke up, but she never remembered dreaming while she was on it. Sifting through Kellogg’s brain had stirred up enough shit that she wasn’t going to take chances. There might be puking in her near future, but at least she’d be well rested.

As she readied the syringe, Ying caught sight of something strange on her pillow. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she realized it was a dried hubflower, and beneath it’s faded, paper-thin petals was one of the Silver Shroud cards Kent had made. Written on the back were the words ‘my condolences’ and a smaller version of the red heart that she had come to hate.

The syringe slipped from her fingers as Ying picked up her pack and all but fled. She paid by the month, and the room was hers for at least another week, but it didn’t matter. Clair could keep the caps - no force on earth would convince her to stay another night there.

Back outside, Ying leaned against the dirty and pitted brick of the hotel as she took several deep breaths to slow the nervous stuttering of her heart. She felt ridiculous, getting worked up over a dead flower, but it was the subtle threat that went along with it. He knew where she slept now, and if he’d gotten in once, he could do so again.

Ying ran a hand through her hair, tightening her fingers until her scalp stung from the pressure. It was humiliating to admit, even to herself, but these mind games Pickman was playing were really getting to her. Goodneighbor was the only place she’d ever felt safe. Ironic, but true. Now, that feeling of safety was shattered.

A couple of passing drifters gave her odd looks, one eying her pack on the ground. Ying flashed a sardonic grin and straightened, pulling back the edge of her coat so the man could see the knife in her belt. “Try it,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes. “ _Please_.”

Deciding that whatever she had wasn’t worth bleeding over, the man hurried past, eyes down. Ying sighed as she picked up her pack. She was itching for a fight, a chance to take back the confidence that had been ripped away, but it was probably best to go with her original plan of trying to get some sleep. There were a few empty rooms in the old State House where Hancock let drifters sleep if they had nowhere else to go; maybe he’d let her crash in one of them for a while.

She found the mayor upstairs, his bodyguard absent for once. Hancock grinned when he saw her and waved her over. Ying took a seat beside the ghoul, settling back against the musty cushions with a groan of relief. She wasn’t moving anytime soon, she decided as the tension eased in her back and shoulders. If Hancock wanted her off that couch, he could damn well drag her himself. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, either.

“How’d it go at The Den?” he asked.

“Better than I expected.”

“You get anything useful?”

“That depends, I suppose.” Ying gave him a brief explanation about the Institute using teleportation and her next step of finding Virgil. “I know it sounds crazy,” she added at his incredulous look. “But I saw it.”

“Explains why no one’s ever been able to find ‘em,” Hancock mused. “You think this Institute guy will help you?”

“I can be persuasive if I need to be.” Ying gave the ghoul a dirty look when he laughed and bumped him with her shoulder. “I can,” she insisted.

“You mean you’ll threaten or just argue circles around ‘im till he gives in.”

“I’m not above bribery, so don’t rule that out.” She said the words with a grin, but it froze as she realized what she was doing.

 _How the hell does he_ do _that?_ Ying wondered.

She came here to beg for a place to sleep, and somehow he had her bantering and cracking jokes like everything was fine. Nothing had changed. Not a thing. Pickman was still out there, she still had to find a way through an environment that would kill her in under a minute...she still had to come to terms with the fact that the baby she’d been searching for was now a child, a stranger who had no idea she even existed.

It was all still there, but it wasn’t quite so overwhelming when she was with Hancock. She didn't understand it, but he helped her find the strength to keep her head above water so she could keep kicking towards the shore. Every instinct screamed that this was dangerous, that she was the only one she could depend on, but beneath all of that, it didn’t _feel_ wrong. The more thought she gave the matter, the more confused she became.

“Hey,” Hancock’s voice broke through her thoughts as the ghoul nudged her knee with his. “You in there? Thought we were talkin’, here.”

Ying’s head snapped up and she sent him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“You okay, doll?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m -” The familiar phrase was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t force out the final word. Not with him. Their previous conversation echoed through her mind, accompanied by an uncomfortable twinge of guilt.

Only a few short hours in and she was already reneging on her promise to try. She didn’t always tell the truth – to herself, even – and she’d be the first to admit that, but she would go to great lengths to keep her word once given.

“I’m lying through my teeth,” she admitted with a short laugh. She ducked her head to avoid his gaze, fingers making nervous pleats in the fabric of her coat. “Honestly? I don’t think so.”

It was a difficult thing to say aloud. Allowing another to hear the admission somehow made it all the more true, but at the same time there was an unexpected yet profound relief at not having to pretend anymore. She was too exhausted, in body, mind, and spirit, to continue the charade for someone who’d never found it convincing in the first place.

“You wanna talk about it?”

It was a simple offer, one she felt free to accept or decline with no attempt on his part to persuade one way or the other. For that reason, Ying took a moment to think it over before she shook her head. She wasn’t ready to take that step so soon after the giant leap of confiding in someone, and really, she had no idea where to even begin. “No. Thanks, though.”

“I’m here if you change your mind.”

“I know.”

Hancock’s arm slid around her shoulders and Ying stiffened in surprise. Physical contact between them wasn’t new. It was practically a necessity when they spent so much of their time together getting shot at and patching each other up. At some point along the way, that had evolved to more casual touches, but never something like this. It was...nice. Intimate in a way she hadn’t known since the early days with Nate, years before the drunken romp at the park that resulted in their son.

She must have taken too long to decide how she felt about it because she could feel Hancock start to pull away. Ying leaned her head into the juncture of his shoulder and chest to still his movement and raised her eyes to his. “It’s fine,” she told him softly. “You startled me, is all.”

The ghoul held her gaze for a moment and then relaxed, pulling her closer against him. He smelled like cigarette smoke and gunpowder, and beneath that, the faint, earthy fragrance of wet leaves in the fall. A strange combination, to be sure, but one unique to him and not unpleasant. Ying closed her eyes and let it wash over her like a soothing current.

She was tired of pretending to hold it together, tired of acting like she had it all figured out while the world crumbled around her. If seeking a moment of comfort was indicative of some flaw within her, so be it. It was only Hancock, and he wouldn’t hold it against her.

Ying had only to meant to close her eyes for a second, but her sudden jolt to awareness told her that she’d dozed off instead. She quickly sat up and found the ghoul grinning down at her.

“Have a nice nap?”

“How long?” she asked, ignoring his teasing tone and the heat flushing her face.

“Five minutes or so.” Hancock shrugged in nonchalance but his grin widened. “You snored the whole time.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Like a brahmin.”

Ying scowled. “I don’t snore.”

Hancock held his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. “Hey, whatever you say.” He paused for a moment and then added, “In all seriousness though, falling asleep on a ghoul is probably a sign that it’s time to hit the sack.”

“I tried that already,” she muttered. “It wasn’t going to happen.”

“You need somethin’ to help?” The mayor asked, hand dipping into his pocket.

“No, it’s not that.” Ying sighed. Technically, this was one of those things she didn’t want to talk about, but trying to avoid the issue would only lead to more questions. “I found something in my room at the Rexford. A dried flower and one of those cards Kent made.”

“Shit. Pickman?”

“Or Clair’s fucked up idea of turndown service.” She shook her head at his look of blank confusion. “Bad joke, never mind. It’s him. He signed the card and everything.”

“And we still got no clue where he’s hiding.”

“Nope,” Ying agreed, lips popping around the last syllable. “Not even a hint.”

Hancock frowned at her. “Look, doll, I know you wanna keep this private, but it ain’t getting any better, and now this asshole is slinkin’ around town.”

Ying rubbed her eyes, trying to blink away the grit behind her lids. “I know,” she murmured, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’ll talk to Nick.”

Satisfied, the ghoul nodded. “I need to discuss some shit with Fahrenheit.” He waved a hand toward the couch and shot her a grin. “Can’t say it’s as comfortable as me, but you can crash there, if you want. It’s yours as long as you need it.”

“Ass.” She waited until he was at the door before calling out, “Hey, Hancock. Thanks.”

Her stomach flipped as his grin softened into a genuine smile and then he disappeared. With a heavy sigh, Ying lay back, stretching her cramped legs. Minutes later, she let out a soft groan.

That cocky shit was right: the couch wasn’t as comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can write friendship, and I can write romance, but I seem to be unable to write the transition from friendship to romance. Please bear with me as I muddle my way through it


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings here. Language, as always. 
> 
> This chapter took forever to get out. If you see mistakes, please let me know!

Ying stared out the window of the Old State House, taking care to avoid looking in the direction of the coffee table where Nick, Hancock, and Fahrenheit had gathered. The surface had been cleared of the usual assortment of chems, and in their place was every ‘gift’ Pickman had left her. Fahrenheit had even retrieved that damned painting from the gallery earlier in the day, along with one of Pickman’s old calling cards she’d found for comparison because Nick wanted to be ‘thorough’. Ying wasn’t sure what the detective thought he was going to find – the days of fingerprints and databases were long past – but he combed over each piece with the same intensity he’d exhibited when they were searching Kellogg’s house.

“No one’s seen anything unusual?” Nick asked, placing one of the letters back on the table. “No one new hanging around town?”

Hancock shook his head. “You know how it works around here, Nick. Play nice and you’re welcome in Goodneighbor – no questions asked. New faces show up all the time, and Ying’s the only one who’s actually seen this asshole in person, anyway.”

“I gave the Watch a description,” Ying added, turning to face the detective. “He’s a bit cleaner than most, better educated, but aside from that, there’s really nothing that would set him apart from anyone else that comes through here.”

Not technically true, at least as far as she was concerned, but she suspected more than a little bias had fueled that observation, and the difference wasn’t something she could put into words and expect someone else to recognize. ‘Cold, cruel eyes’ and ‘a smile that makes your skin crawl’ were pretty subjective descriptors.

“So he’s the kind of guy that could blend into a crowd.” The detective’s yellow eyes met Ying’s, seeking confirmation.

She nodded. “As long as he didn’t start talking about his hobbies, yeah, he probably could. Especially in a place like this.” She shot an apologetic glance toward the mayor. “No offense.”

Hancock shrugged. “None taken. Look, we know he’s been here at least once, and the gallery ain’t that far. He’s gotta be stickin’ close, right?”

“Not necessarily,” the detective was quick to correct. "You said you found him in the sewer beneath the gallery?”

“Yeah. Hiding from Slab’s crew.” Things worse than raiders prowled those tunnels, but Ying had assumed the threat of imminent death had made Pickman desperate enough to take his chances down there. Now, she was starting to wonder. “You think the tunnels are how he gets around?”

“I can’t say for sure, but it would make a lot of sense. Someone that knew their way around down there could get just about anywhere.”

“All without being seen,” Ying mused. “It could explain why it took them so long to find him.”

“I don’t know.” Hancock’s expression was skeptical. “The sewers are full of ferals. Seems like if they were Pickman’s way around, this little problem would have taken care of itself by now.”

Ying dug a cigarette out of her pocket and lit it, exhaling a plume of stale smoke. “He could have a way around them,” she suggested. “Ferals aren’t exactly cunning, and this guy’s not stupid.”

“That makes him dangerous,” Nick warned her.

Hancock crossed his arms and looked at the detective. “So you track ‘im down and we put a slug in his head. Problem solved.”

“It’s not that easy, John,” the detective sighed. “If he’s using the sewers, he could be anywhere in Boston – even Dogmeat couldn’t track him down there with all the water. And if no one has seen him, we don’t even have an idea of where to start looking.”

“You’re going about this the wrong way,” Fahrenheit spoke up from her perch on the arm of the couch.

The ghoul gave his bodyguard an inscrutable look. “Yeah? Wanna share with the class, Fahr?”

She tapped Pickman’s calling card with her finger. “He’s playing a game, Hancock. He wanted those raiders to come looking for him, but he underestimated their drive for revenge. That was his mistake.” The bodyguard’s blue eyes were calm as she regarded Ying. “You should always know your opponent.”

Nick hummed, gaze thoughtful. “He’s been doing research.”

Fahrenheit dipped her head in a nod. “I suggest you do the same,” she told Ying. “He’s not going to make the same mistake twice.”

“Sure,” Ying agreed with a casual shrug. “You put the word out and maybe he’ll stop by for an interview.”

“You have as much on him as he has on you, Ying,” the bodyguard said with a roll of her eyes.

“Maybe more,” Nick added with a gesture at the table. “All this seems like a lot of effort just for the sake of revenge.”

“Like Fahrenheit said- he’s playing a game,” Ying muttered.

“That alone gives you an idea of who you’re dealing with. The longer he drags this out, the more that can go wrong, but he’s confident – or arrogant – enough to risk it. Take a look at this.” Nick picked up one of the letters and waved Ying over, pointing to something on the paper. “Most of his writing is nice and neat, but see the waver in this word here?”

Ying looked over his shoulder and saw his finger pointing to the word ‘inspiration’ on the note she’d found with the painting. There _was_ a difference, she noticed in surprise. It seemed obvious, now that it had been brought to her attention. That word was slightly darker than the rest, the strokes of the letters bold and aggressive. Halfway through the word, they actually scored the paper, as though the writer had suddenly tightened his grip on the pen.

“Ever write something when you’re upset? It makes a difference,” Nick explained. “He was calm when he wrote most of this, but that word got a reaction.”

“He thinks I betrayed him, but we already knew that. I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to picking up on here, Nick.”

“It shows he’s angry, but for the most part, he’s able to put that aside. See how the rest of the note goes back to his normal writing? It didn’t take him long to get ahold of himself. Control is important to this guy, and right now, he has all of it. He’s the one calling the shots.”

Ying sat down on the edge of the couch and sighed. “So you’re saying this could go on for a while.”

“Unless you force him to change his tactics,” stated Fahrenheit. “Word of advice? Always remember that the threat is stronger than the execution.”

“Another chess metaphor?”

The body guard shrugged. “More like strategy, but it still applies. Pickman has control because you’ve given it to him. As long as you’re looking over your shoulder for what he _might_ do, he doesn’t have to make a move until he’s ready. By that point, he’ll have you right where he wants you.”

“This is why I don’t play chess with you,” Ying remarked, folding her arms against her chest. “You make it weird.”

She liked the bodyguard, and the months she’d known her had given her a healthy sense of respect for the other woman. Fahrenheit had a way of cutting through layers of bullshit to strike at the heart of a matter without allowing little things like sentiment to get in the way. That wasn’t to say she was without empathy, but she tended to view a situation with cold logic instead of emotion. It made the bodyguard extremely good at her job, but could prove unsettling at times.

“You don’t play because you don’t like losing,” Fahrenheit retorted. “And you’re missing the point: If you spend all your time looking for the knife at your back, you’re going to miss the one pointed at your throat. Force Pickman to act, and you take away his advantage. At least then you’ll know what direction the knife is going to come from.”

“Sounds good, but we can’t really force the guy to do anything until he comes out of hiding,” Hancock pointed out.

“So draw him out.” Fahrenheit’s words were accompanied by a look that indicated they shouldn’t even need to be said. “You already know what he wants.”

“You mean Ying.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Hancock’s voice dropped into that octave Ying had fondly – and privately – dubbed his ‘mayor voice’. “We ain’t usin’ her as bait.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it when you wanted Sinjin dealt with,” Fahrenheit reminded him.

The mayor’s eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “This is different. Ying-”

“Is sitting right here,” the small woman cut in. Her dark eyes flashed in irritation as she looked from one to the other. “And I have it on good authority that she _hates_ being talked about like she’s not, so both of you can fuck off with that. Besides, he already knows where to find me.” She made a sharp gesture toward the dried flower. “He left that in my fucking _bed_.”

Nick nodded in agreement. “It might be on the agenda, but I think he’s got more in mind than settling a score. If it was that simple, he’d have acted by now.”

Ying ran a hand through her hair and let out an agitated sigh as the group lapsed into silence. Nick had been able to provide a bit of insight she hadn’t considered before, but now they were back to square one. As frustrating as it was, she found that she didn’t regret agreeing to bring the detective in. It was easier to step back and look at the situation in an objective manner when it wasn’t just her alone with her thoughts, and the sudden lull in the discussion gave her time to think.

The raiders found Pickman because he wanted them to, and until he decided he wanted the same from her, he could hide indefinitely. She didn’t want to rule the gallery out; her gut told her he wouldn’t just abandon his work, but she had neither the time nor the inclination to just hang around until he decided to show up again. He’d probably just know she was there, anyway.

Helpless anger had her clenching her hands into impotent fists and grinding her teeth. The simple truth was, she couldn’t _do_ anything, and she hated the feeling of just standing around and waiting for Pickman to decide the game had gone on long enough. She was through playing. Fahrenheit was absolutely right about one important factor: she’d given Pickman far too much control, and that needed to end.

Ying forced her eyes to the table, her dark gaze sweeping over the various objects. Pickman called himself an artist, and art needed an audience. How much time had gone into drafting those notes? How long had Pickman been watching to know just how to word each one, and where to leave it for maximum effect? A man willing to go to those lengths didn’t just want a reaction, he expected one, and each piece had been carefully crafted with no other goal in mind.

She could work with that. It wasn’t her preferred method of dealing with a problem, but it was a choice she could make and that in itself shifted a small measure of power back into her hands.

“Fahrenheit was right,” Ying conceded after a few minutes. “We _have_ been going about this all wrong.”

“You got somethin’ in mind?” Hancock asked. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was leaning a shoulder against the back wall. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were intent, almost eager as he waited for her response.

“Yeah. We do nothing,” Ying replied, knowing it wasn’t what the mayor wanted to hear.

“Nothing?” the ghoul echoed as though he hadn’t heard correctly. “You wanna just sit back and wait for Pickman to get around to killin’ ya?”

Ying shook her head. She could understand Hancock’s need to do something, but in this case, doing nothing _was_ acting, in the only real way she had available to her.

“I’m not just sitting back and waiting,” she explained, striving for patience. “I’m taking my ball and heading the fuck home because I’ve had enough of this shit. Let’s see how fun Pickman thinks his game is when he’s got no one to play with.”

“Anyone that goes to this much trouble has plenty of ego,” Nick added in tentative agreement. “And turning that against him might be enough to bring him out. But you need to be careful here, kid. There’s no telling what this guy will do, or who might get hurt.”

“I know,” Ying sighed, dropping her gaze to the floor.

Pickman claimed he restricted his art to raiders. If he was telling the truth - and she had no real way of knowing - would he deviate from that pattern just to get her attention? She wasn’t afraid of the man for her own sake, but she was terrified of giving another psychopath an excuse to spill innocent blood.

Willing away memories that were still too fresh, she looked over at the synth and asked, “Do you think you can find anything on that ghoul woman he killed?”

The detective sat back against the couch and rubbed his undamaged hand against his chin as he thought about it. “It’d be tough,” he admitted. “Especially if you’re wanting discretion. I don’t get many cases about missing ghouls, and if she was a raider, the chances of finding anything are pretty close to zero. I’ll head back to the agency and see what I can dig up. If I find anything, I’ll let you know. Be careful, Ying.”

“As careful as I know how to be,” Ying promised with forced cheer.

“That’s what worries me,” the detective muttered as he got to his feet.

“Thanks, Nick.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” Nick nodded a farewell toward Hancock. “John.” The ghoul returned the gesture and the detective let himself out, closing the door behind him.

Hancock let out a breath and pushed off of the wall. “Talk to the boys,” he told Fahrenheit. “Tell ‘em to keep an eye out, but as far as anyone else is concerned, it’s business as usual around here.”

“On it, boss.”

As Fahrenheit left, Hancock flopped down beside Ying. “You really think this’ll work?”

Ying met the ghoul’s eyes and shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got - anything else just gives him what he wants, and I’m not letting him control me with this anymore, Hancock. I can’t.”

“Yeah, I feel ya.” Hancock was quiet a few moments, the creases that lined his forehead and mouthed deepened by his troubled frown. “Listen. What Fahr said about me usin’ you to take out Sinjin? She wasn’t wrong.”

“I know...” She arched a questioning brow, not sure what he was getting at. He’d made no secret of what her role would be when they’d discussed bringing Sinjin and his gang down. “That was the plan, remember?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make that shit right.”

Ying reached up and flicked the brim of his hat. “You’re giving yourself an awful lot of credit here. I’m no one’s puppet.”

“That’s not what I’m sayin’,” the ghoul sighed, straightening his tricorn.

“I know what you’re saying; it doesn’t change the fact that Sinjin needed to be dealt with. If I didn’t agree, I would’ve told you to go fuck yourself and just stayed out of it.”

“Stayin’ out of it wasn’t really an option, doll,” Hancock remarked dryly. “He was comin’ straight for you.”

“You say that like it mattered.” Ying chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m not claiming walking away would have been the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but it was still an option.”

Her grin faded as she toyed with the ring set in her bottom lip and tried to find a way to explain.

When she wasn’t giving him shit over it, Ying tended to ignore Hancock’s status as mayor. She despised power and the way those who held it lorded it over the people beneath them. When they first met, she’d assumed the mayor of Goodneighbor would be no different than any other asshole at the top. She’d been wrong.

The ghoul had her respect, not because he demanded it, but because he’d earned it. That made him an exception to the rule and exceptions made her uncomfortable. It was much easier to just pretend Hancock’s position of power and the gray he introduced by not being a complete ass about it didn’t exist until she was forced to face it. Like now.

His concern about misusing his authority was a credit to the man. Ying didn’t want to dismiss that, but it also carried the unwelcome implication that she hadn’t had the final say in determining her actions. And that, that needed to be cleared up.

“Look, I get that you’re worried you might have used me, and that’s a good thing. I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone in your position give a fuck. But my choices are _mine_ , Hancock – even the ones that turn out to be obvious mistakes. Don’t take that away from me,” she urged, voice soft but earnest.

Claiming the choice meant claiming the consequences, but she knew better than to credit that to some innate sense of personal responsibility. It was about agency, plain and simple, and she wasn’t going to give that up for anyone, however benevolent their intentions.

Hancock held her gaze for several long moments before he nodded once in understanding and changed the subject. “You talk to Daisy about that enviro suit yet?”

“This morning, yeah. She said she’ll need some time, but she’s pretty sure she can get one.”

“I figured she could. That gal can get her hands on just about anything.”

“It’s not getting one I’m worried about. It’s making sure the damn thing still works.”

“Daisy’s not gonna give you anything defective, and we can test it before we go. Still might be a good idea to stock up on anti-rad chems.”

“I might have that covered,” Ying replied. “Fred heard about some Gunners poking around in the old HalluciGen building. He doesn’t know what they’re after, but he promised to get me some Rad X and Radaway if I find him something.”

“What exactly does he want you to bring him?” Hancock asked.

“He wasn’t very specific,” Ying frowned. “Honestly, I haven’t even decided if I’m going to do it. HalluciGen’s bad news. Do you know what kind of shit that place used to produce?”

Hancock grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

With everything she knew about the ghoul, it didn’t take long to connect the dots between what he said and what he wasn’t saying. The words formed in her mind and tumbled past her lips before she could question them. “That’s where you found it.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s the place.”

“If that drug was experimental, they must have kept some kind of notes or records. We could look,” Ying offered.

“Why? You expectin’ to find a cure or somethin’?”

“Why would there be a cure?” she asked, puzzled. She recalled his admission of ‘living with the side effects’ and her chest tightened in fear. “Did it make you sick?”

“No, it made me a ghoul. And there’s no fixin’ that.”

Relief at hearing nothing was wrong warred with anger as the meaning of his statement sank in. “You honestly think I want to fix you?” Ying demanded, hooking the first two fingers of each hand into air quotes around the word ‘fix’.

Hancock shook his head. “Don’t know what else you’d be hopin’ to find.”

“Anything that might give you some fucking idea of what you took,” she snapped. “A colleague of mine was working on a lawsuit against HalluciGen. I don’t know all the details, but the rumor was that a father was suing because his son died after volunteering at that place. He claimed the kid went crazy and tore his own throat out. With his _fingernails_. A little digging turned up similar stories, and none of those people had any clue what they were really signing up for. I just thought- nevermind.”

Ying’s let out a breath through her nose, lips pressed into a thin line. She knew she’d blundered into a topic he obviously didn’t want to talk about, but she was at a loss on how to fix it. Hancock had practically bragged the story of how he became a ghoul to her back in one of their earliest conversations. Only now did it occur to her that he might not be as comfortable with the change as he let on, and it was too late to go back.

“Hancock, I’m sorry, okay? It’s none of my business. Just forget I said anything.”

“No need for apologies. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“ _Clearly_.”

“Hey. Look at me, doll.” When Ying met his eyes, the ghoul gave her a faint smile. “I’m just runnin’ my mouth. None of that shit’s on you, alright?”

He tipped his head back against the couch and let out a heavy sigh. “You’re not gonna find anything about that drug – I made sure of that when I took it, gave everyone the same story you got. Truth is, I knew what it was gonna do.

“Whoever came up with it was tryin’ to find a way to make people immune to rads and actually managed to find some guy willin’ to test it out. Had to skip over a lot of fancy science words, but I’d seen enough ghouls in Diamond City to know what they were gettin’ at.”

Her confusion over ghouls being in Diamond City must have shown because he nodded and produced what could have been a smirk if it weren’t so grim.

“You heard right. Ghouls weren’t always banned from the city. That was...recent. The place wasn’t too bad before that. I lived there for a while with my brother.”

Ying shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to pry, but unable to hold back while he seemed to be in the mood to talk about himself. “I didn’t know you had a brother...did something happen to him?”

Hancock chuckled, dark and bitter. “Not unless you count the giant stick that got wedged up his ass. He still’s there.” He shot her a toothy grin, not bothering to hide that he was toying with her when he added, “You’ve met. Had a few things to say about ‘im, too, as I recall.”

“You’re going to have to narrow it down for me,” Ying snorted. “I say shit about a lot of people, especially from Diamond City. There’s only one I’d actually like to take a step further...” Her voice trailed to a halt at the sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly who the ghoul was referring to, and a quick glance at his face confirmed it. “Of course it’s the asshole I openly admitted to trying to rob,” she sighed.

“Figured you’d appreciate the irony,” Hancock teased.

“It is kind of funny,” she admitted. “though probably not so much from where you’re sitting. I hope you aren’t expecting an apology,” she added, a hint of defiance in her dark eyes. “We both know I’d be lying and I’m not sure I could even try to fake my way through that.”

“For what, talkin’ shit?” Hancock shook his head. “That’s the least that bastard deserves. I thought about killin’ ‘im when he ran the ghouls out of the city, but I don’t think it would have changed anything.”

“He did that?”

“He made it his fuckin’ campaign slogan when he ran for mayor. At first, I didn’t think it was gonna go anywhere, but I guess he got enough of those upper-stands assholes to vote for him. Next thing you know, families with kids are linin’ up in the streets to throw people they called ‘neighbor’ to the ruins.

“I begged him to call it off, but he wouldn’t hear it -said he was just carryin’ out the will of the people. Not everyone was for it, of course, but no one bothered to do anything to stop it. I couldn’t stay after that. I just needed to get away.”

“What happened to them?”

“I don’t know for sure, but it’s not hard to guess. Most folks don’t last long out there. I managed to track down a few of the families and lead ‘em to Goodneighbor, but that kind of life ain’t for everyone, and it was worse back then. I brought ‘em food for a couple of weeks but they just kinda disappeared after that.”

“You tried,” Ying said softly, placing a tentative hand on his arm.

“Yeah? Not enough.”

“No,” she agreed, her thoughts shifting to her own lengthy list of failures. “It never is, is it?”

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth,” he muttered, one hand coming up to give hers a gentle squeeze.

“You went from drifter to mayor,” she blurted, trying to hide the odd rush of disappointment when Hancock dropped his hand back into his lap. “How does that happen?”

“With a lot of guns and about ten feet of rope.”

Ying arched a brow at that and Hancock sighed, but told her about Vic’s reign of terror and how it ended with the man swinging from the balcony of the Old State House. She listened with rapt attention as he described the night a drifter was killed and how he came to be in possession of the original John Hancock’s clothing. The ghoul freely admitted he took his position by force, and yet after all she’d heard, Ying couldn’t disagree with his methods. Violence didn’t have to be the only answer, but it certainly had it’s place, and it tended to be the only thing people like Vic understood.

“I found that chem a few months later,” Hancock finished, looking away. “All I wanted was to wipe that bastard in the mirror out and I knew whatever was in that vial would do it, one way or another. If I took it, I’d be free.” He gave her a crooked grin that did nothing to mask the pain in his eyes. “Choices, right? Funny how it didn’t really seem like one at the time.”

Ying understood self -loathing, but it hurt to see it painted so starkly across his features. He’d done so much good for the people of his town, but he was too busy beating himself up for the ones he couldn’t save to see that for the achievement it was.

“You know they would have just killed you, too.”

“Probably,” Hancock agreed tersely. “Doesn’t make me any less of a coward.”

“And bravery doesn’t make someone any less of an idiot,” Ying pointed out.

“You honestly think standin’ around and watchin’ was the right call?”

“I think taking down Vic was the right call. Waiting for a time when that’s not certain suicide isn’t the same thing as standing around and watching. It doesn’t diminish everything else you’ve done after that, either.”

“Tell that to the poor bastard that got his skull caved in.”

Ying threw up a hand in mounting frustration. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. Say you did step in. What then? Best case scenario, you manage to take out one of his guys before the rest kill you. Worst case, all you’ve done is double the body count. Either way, Vic’s still in charge, and everyone else is still too scared to stand up to him. Nothing’s different, except now you’re dead, and there’s no one to stop Vic.”

Hancock didn’t say anything for a long time. Ying wanted to give him space, but her anxiety grew with each tick of the clock. She didn’t regret what she said, even if parts of the conversation had gotten heated, and even if it had required more than a little hypocrisy on her part. He needed to hear it, and no one else was around to say it. So she fidgeted and picked at the holes in the worn cushions as she waited for a response.

His anger, his annoyance, him telling her to butt the hell out - anything was better than this silence that seemed to stretch on and on. She didn’t expect him to grab her hand. She looked up in surprise and found him watching her, one brow raised, lips quirked in his familiar grin.

“I’d really appreciate it if you quit trying to dismantle the furniture thread by thread.”

Ying let out a nervous laugh and sat back, casting a sheepish glance toward the small pile of stuffing and loose strings she’d accumulated. “Sorry.”

He shook his head, grin still in place, and wrapped an arm around her. This time, she didn’t hesitate to scoot closer.

“I meant what I said, you know,” he murmured. “About you bein’ the best friend I have. Still not sure what I did to deserve it, but, fuck, don’t think I ain’t grateful.”

“Hancock, stop. You’re a good man. Even if you’ve made mistakes, so what? You saw something about yourself you didn’t like, and you didn’t just change it, you- you completely remade yourself. I didn’t even think that was possible...”

“I really wouldn’t recommend it, doll.”

“I doubt I could pull off the costume,” Ying smirked. “And I’m more of a Benjamin Franklin girl, myself.”

“Yeah?” The ghoul tiled his head in curiosity. “Why’s that?”

“‘It is the first responsibility of every citizen to question authority,’” she quoted.

She heard his low chuckle beneath her ear, and then the low rumble of his voice as he asked, “Got anymore?”

After thinking a moment, she nodded. “I’m paraphrasing here, but: Wine is constant proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy. He said a bunch of other stuff, too, but most of that was capitalist bullshit.”

Grinning, Hancock shook his head. He brushed her cheekbone with the backs of his fingers and said softly, “I don’t know what made you walk through that gate, Ying, but I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ying whispered as something warm swelled in her chest. “Me too.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been following and leaving feedback! 
> 
> This chapter was so hard to write, and I feel like I should apologize in advance. 
> 
> No major warnings that I can think of.

Transportation was at the top of a very short list of the luxuries Ying actually missed from her former life, and it was also the one she’d most often taken for granted. Even with oil shortages and the general mess the economy had been in, it had taken trudging through an irradiated wasteland to fully appreciate just how dependent she’d been on the family car. Before the war, she could have made the trip from Goodneighbor to Sanctuary in under an hour. Now, that same distance took the better part of a day on foot, sometimes more depending on who or what felt like trying to stop her.

Ying straightened as she finished searching the body of a raider and held out a few scavenged shells for her companion to take. She stepped over the dead woman without a backwards glance as they continued down the road.

It seemed like someone was always trying to stop her.

The sun beat down without mercy as she and Hancock picked their way along what remained of Boston’s streets. Travel on the roads was just as dangerous as anywhere else in the Commonwealth, but the local wildlife tended to avoid coming this far into the ruins of the city, and however pitted and scarred the pavement was, it was still easier than trying to traverse rocky hillsides or navigate the decaying husks of fallen trees.

That minor detail did little to improve Ying’s sour mood. The day was promising to be hot, even for the ravaged climate she’d become accustomed to. It wasn’t yet noon, and already the heat was approaching intolerable. She wiped at her grimy face, tugging the neckline of her tank top from where it clung to her damp skin, and cast an irritable glare at the sky. It was a solid field of pale blue; not a single cloud offered the hope of respite.

Sneaking a glance at Hancock, Ying did her best to bite back an irrational pang of annoyance as her mouth twisted into a petulant scowl. Even dressed in the heavy wool of his frock coat, the ghoul seemed comfortable. It was a double-edge sword; the damage to his skin that left him unaffected by the heat also made him far more vulnerable to cooler temperatures. She knew that, but it was difficult to keep in mind when sweat stung her eyes and the sun leeched the strength from her limbs.

Hancock chose that moment to look over, the twitch of his lips indicating that her glower had not been as covert as she’d thought. Ying sighed as guilt crept in to smother her irritation. She was acting like an ass for something entirely out of their control.

An apology on her tongue, she took a few steps towards the ghoul, reaching out to catch his sleeve and then froze in sick dread, a soundless gasp caught in her throat as a soft click came from somewhere near her left foot. There was no mistaking that sound, or the series of rapid beeps that followed.

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second above the mine and then both separated in a desperate attempt to distance themselves from the inevitable explosion. Ying managed three quick strides before the device detonated, the concussive wave of the blast crashing into her with the force of a truck and lifting her from her feet. She landed hard on her right shoulder, the impact whipping her head forward and smacking her chin into the pavement.

Blood filled her mouth, a few drops splashing bright against the asphalt. A cut on her chin dripped crimson onto her shirt, and her shoulder throbbed with every beat of her heart, pins and needles shooting down to her fingertips. She tried to push herself up, bracing her weight on her good arm and drawing her knees up under her.

The toe of her boot slid in the loose gravel, and she lost her balance, falling prone again. A muffled shriek escaped her clenched teeth as agony ripped through her. Tiny motes of colored light distorted her vision, fracturing into jagged patterns as she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain and struggled to catch her breath.

When the worst of it had passed, Ying - better prepared for what was to come, now – inhaled slow and deep through her nose, held it, and struggled to her feet. She swayed, nearly toppling over again as the muscles in her limp arm spasmed into tight knots that curled her stomach and left her head feeling light. Biting her lip against another scream, she pulled the injured limb in toward her chest, and cradled her wrist with her other hand in an effort to keep the jarring of her arm to a minimum as she scanned the area for any sign of Hancock.

The red of his coat was a beacon against the dull palette of the ruins, and it didn’t take more than a cursory sweep to find him. When she did, her knees went weak, a silent cry of denial filling her mind and echoing with the clarity of a bell.

_No...Nononono!_

He’d been thrown by the blast and was slumped against a coolant pump outside of an old Red Rocket. She couldn’t see any obvious wounds, but one fact was painfully clear: he wasn’t moving.

Ying swallowed hard, every awful possibility her adrenaline-charged imagination could come up with flashing through her mind. She didn’t want to see for fear of confirming any of those grisly scenarios, but the thick feeling that clogged her throat and squeezed like a vice around her chest would not let her turn away. No matter what waited for her, she had to know.

Steeling her spine, Ying closed the distance between them, running as fast as she could without pitching forward into the gravel and cement. The jolting to her arm hurt, but the sliver of her attention that wasn’t fixed on getting to Hancock was consumed by a new ache, more urgent than any of her wounds, and one she suspected had nothing at all to do with the physical.

She dropped to her knees in front of him, eyes darting over his crumpled form as she searched for injuries. He’d lost his hat in the explosion, so she got a clear view of the nasty bump on the side of his head. Blood dribbled from the center of the swelling, but she couldn’t find any other major wounds.

The building tension that had carried her forward snapped and her bones turned to rubber as she caught the slow rise and fall of his chest. Ying sagged against him, fighting the sudden urge to cry. He was breathing, For now, at least and that silent caveat spurred her to action.

Ying took a quick look around, a haphazard scan for potential threats, and then grit her teeth as she shrugged off the straps of her backpack. She was pale and shaking by the time she had it sitting in between her feet, but wasted no time in finding a stimpack and jamming it into the ghoul’s thigh.

When the stimulant had no discernible effect, Ying shook him, gently at first, and then harder when he failed to respond. “Hancock... _John_! We can’t stay here. Come on, _wake up_!”

Her fingers curled around Hancock’s upper arm, nails biting into the thick fabric of his coat as she gave him another shake, this one as rough as she dared. “Fucking bastard, get up! Don’t-” She paused, nearly choking on the word that burned in her mind but refused to move past the lump in her throat. “...Just- _don’t_.”

Fear pooled in the pit of her stomach, relief turned cold when all her efforts failed to rouse the ghoul. A head injury went well beyond the scope of her rudimentary first aid skills, and there was no one around to call for help. Hancock needed a medic but all he had was her. The irony might have been amusing if it weren’t so fucking terrifying.

Drawing a tremulous breath, Ying fought for some semblance of calm. Sitting on her ass and hyperventilating wasn’t doing either of them any favors; she could fall apart later when they weren’t easy pickings for the first pack of ferals that happened to wander by.

The service station wasn’t the most secure of locations, with its broken windows and missing doors, but at least she could see that there was nothing nasty waiting for them inside. They needed shelter, and this was as good as it was going to get.

Struggling to a stand, Ying leaned over the ghoul and grabbed a fistful of his frock coat near the collar and pulled with all her strength. Hancock wasn’t terribly heavy, but without the use of both her hands, it was slow and difficult work, her progress measured in inches. Before long, she was panting and drenched in sweat, teeth clamped onto her bottom lip against the waves of pain that radiated from her shoulder. And only halfway there.

Ying took a moment to catch her breath, wiping her face with the hem of her shirt. As she reached down and grabbed hold of his jacket again, Hancock let out a low groan, his hand coming up to wrap around her wrist. She jumped at the contact, wide eyes darting to his face to find him squinting up at her.

“Easy on the outfit there, doll.” The words were slurred, slow and careful.

“John?” Ying settled for his first name, simply because she didn’t trust herself with more than one syllable. That choking feeling was back, but this time it was accompanied by an elation that made it difficult to sit still. She busied herself by smoothing out the creases she’d made in his coat, focusing on the course texture beneath her fingertips in an effort to reassure herself that this wasn’t some hallucination born of shock or heatstroke.

“Last time I checked.” He gave a slight nod and grimaced, clutching at his head.

“How do you feel?” she asked, crouching in front of him.

Not the brightest question, perhaps, but it was all she could think of. She’d say anything to keep him talking while her brain caught up with the fact that he was actually awake and speaking to her at all. Despite her attempts to quiet it, a tiny voice deep inside had done its best to convince her that she’d ruined any chance of that ever happening again.

“Like I got kicked in the head by a brahmin,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “That, or Fred’s really fucked up his stock.”

Despite the fresh guilt that washed through her, Ying couldn’t curb the soft tilt of her lips. Her expression sobered as she explained,“Neither, actually. You kind of got blown up. I...I tripped a frag mine.”

“Yeah?” Hancock’s brow furrowed in confusion. “S’all a little fuzzy right now.”

“I guess that’s to be expected,” Ying murmured. “You hit your head - hard, from the looks of it. You were out for almost ten minutes.” She ran a gentle finger along his scalp, snatching her hand back in self-reproach when the ghoul winced.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, mustering a dismissive shrug. “I’ve had hangovers that were worse than this.”

“Don’t worry about it? You probably have a concussion or something, Hancock! I thought you...I didn’t know if-” Ying broke off, unable to finish and pressed her forehead to his. “ _Fuck_.”

He cupped the back of her head and then slid his hand around to trace the angle of her jaw with the backs of his fingers. “Hey.” His voice was a soft rasp as he pulled back to look at her, tipping her chin up so she would meet his eyes. “I’m good, alright? Not the first time I’ve been knocked around, love. Probably ain’t gonna be the last.”

She swallowed her argument and conceded with a halfhearted nod. He might be able to dismiss her mistake, but she could not. They’d been luckier than her stupidity deserved, and she wouldn’t be forgetting that anytime soon. “We need to get out of here.”

“Place looks deserted. If an explosion didn’t bring anyone runnin’, it’s a pretty safe bet there’s nothin’ here.”

Ying frowned at that, grabbing onto the base of a lamp post to pull herself up. “I’d rather not take chances,” she grunted. “The last thing I want right now is a fight. We sit here too long, and fucking molerats will start tunneling in. Because that’s just the kind of shit that happens to us.”

Hancock let out a low chuckle and carefully sat up. “Well, now that you said it, they’re probably on their way.”

His eyes looked clearer now, Ying noted with relief as she offered her hand to help him up. His initial confusion also seemed to be improving. Maybe that stimpack had helped after all. Even so, she kept a careful eye on him. If he noticed her scrutiny as they gathered their things, he didn’t remark on it.

Once they were inside the Red Rocket, Ying chose a spot behind the counter and lowered herself to the dirt crusted floor, biting her lip as the motion sent fresh bolts of pain down the length of her arm. She tipped her head back against the edge of a shelf and closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds of her companion doing what he could to secure the building against outsiders.

Her eyes flew open and she sucked in a breath when Hancock sat down beside her and took her injured arm, gently prodding at her shoulder. His answering look was apologetic, but he didn’t stop his ministrations. “You didn’t say anything about this,” he chided.

“You just regained consciousness,” Ying sighed. “It didn’t really seem like a big deal compared to that. Just hit me with some stims. It’ll be fine.”

Hancock shook his head. “I don’t think that’s gonna work this time.”

“Why- _Oh_.”

Ying looked over at her bare shoulder and grimaced, suddenly understanding what he meant. There was an odd hollow beneath the ball of the joint that bruises and a few bloody scrapes did nothing to mask. She wasn’t normally squeamish, but there was something deeply disturbing about seeing such an obvious deformity in one of her own limbs.  “I don’t think it’s supposed to do that,” she murmured, voice faint.

“Closest doctor’s in Diamond City,” Hancock said, face tight with worry. “It’s gonna take a while to get there.”

Ying glanced at her Pipboy and jerked her chin toward the dial. “Switch it to the map, will you?” When the glowing triangle that marked their location came into focus, she paled. “Hours, at least. Can’t you just...I don’t know... shove it back in?” she asked, waving the fingers of her left hand in a vague pushing motion.

Hancock took his time answering, but when he did, his voice was laden with doubt. “I saw Amari do it once for one of the Watch that got grabbed up by a mutant. Guy said puttin’ it back hurt like hell and I got ‘im loaded before the doc started.”

“It already hurts like hell, Ying muttered. “And even if we cross our fingers and try for the nearest settlement, it’s still an hour or so from here.”

_An hour out in the open, vulnerable as a wounded bird._

She’d try just about anything before subjecting herself to that.

“Yeah,” Hancock agreed in reluctance. He rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed, reaching for their supplies. “I’ll see what I can do, but I ain’t makin’ any promises here, doll.”

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d warned her how much it would hurt, but a couple hits of Med X and several very long minutes later, it was done. Ying slumped back against the counter, chest heaving, her trembling fingers clamped onto the denim folds of her jeans.

“You still with me?” Hancock asked softly, brushing back a lock of sweat-soaked hair that was plastered to her temple

Ying nodded and relaxed the grip of her fingers, wiggling them to restore the circulation. The warm flush of the drug had left her feeling even more heated and her mouth dry, but the absence of pain was such a drastic improvement she needed a moment just to soak it in. She lifted her shoulder in an experimental roll and let out a slow breath of relief. The searing grind that motion would have produced just a short while ago had been reduced to a stiff twinge; sore, but not unbearable.

The ghoul stilled her movement, and started to wrap something around her shoulder in a makeshift sling. Out of the corner of her eye came flashes of faded red and muted blue and Ying realized it was the flag he normally wore around his waist. Her brows rose in silent question, but she she let him work without interruption.

“Probably shouldn’t move it yet,” Hancock explained as he tied the ends of the flag into a neat knot. He tipped his head toward a waiting stimpack and added, “At least not until that’s had time to work. I don’t know about you, but I really don’t wanna have to do that again.”

“Let’s not,” Ying agreed dryly, grabbing for the stimpack. Once she’d injected the contents, she tossed the empty hypodermic into a corner and sat back, pulling her knees to her chest. “How’s your head?”

“It’s been better, but I’ll live.”

“Maybe you should get checked out.”

Hancock let out a low chuckle. “You find me a doctor that doesn’t turn away ghouls, I might.”

“No you won’t,” Ying scowled. He was humoring her and she saw right through it.

“Nah, you’re probably right,” he amended with a grin. “Look, I’m fine. This ain’t my first headache.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the first one that was because of me.” She must have mumbled the statement louder than she intended because he laughed.

“You sure about that?” His smirk was wry, but not unkind as he added, “‘Cause I can think of a few.”

Ying leveled a flat stare at the ghoul. They both used teasing and jokes to lighten the mood but this subject was one she would never find humor in. “You could have _died_!”

She’d finally said it, the word she’d been dancing around since it all happened, and even though the evidence that it hadn’t actually gone that way was sitting right in front of her, the simple act of admitting the possibility left her feeling cold and sick. The thought of being responsible for another undeserved death was traumatic enough, but this time, it came with the visceral realization that _his_ death would scar her in ways no other had. With nothing else to distract her, the full weight of it hit her all at once, quick and sharp, like a punch to the gut.

Hooking her fingers through the strap of her pack, Ying pulled the canvas bag toward her and began rummaging through it. She wasn’t looking for any particular item, but a way to get her mind off the thrumming of her heart and the cold sweat that prickled at her brow. The heat of the day did nothing to stop the chills that swept through her and not even the awful, tight pressure around her lungs could hold back a growing sob.

“Hey...c’mere.” Hancock spoke in a low, soothing murmur as he took the pack from her and set it behind him, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head beneath his chin. “Could have, but didn’t. I’m right here, doll. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

It wasn’t a promise entirely in his control; they both knew that. If not today, it could be tomorrow or the next, for either one of them. That was the reality of the world they lived in, but was it really so different than before? Guarantees were the purview of late night infomercials and shady car salesmen. Life offered no such thing and never had, but Hancock was giving her the closest equivalent he could, repeating it over and over until her breathing matched the gentle cadence of his voice. She wanted to give him the same.

Her heart had slowed, but she was still hyper aware of every hard thump as she shifted in his embrace until she knelt in front him. Ying laid her palm against his cheek, surprised at how warm it was. The muscles of his jaw twitched and she saw him swallow as his gaze locked with hers, but he made no move to stop her, so she left her hand where it was.

She’d never paid proper attention to his eyes before. Transfixed, she saw now what she’d always missed before and realized what a shame that was. They were the same deep black she’d noticed on other ghouls, but his were luminous as polished jet, vibrant as the distant stars.

An embarrassed blush heated her face at her impromptu lapse into poetry, but it didn’t make the feelings that inspired it any less real or intense. After all they’d been through, she wanted him to know. She _needed_ him to know, but trying to sum it all up in the customary words felt woefully inadequate.

Ying had never been one for speaking. Why waste the time when she could just get off her ass and actually _do_ something. Sure, she could spin a lie when it suited her, wield words like weapons as sharp as any blade, but that was where their function ended. They could be useful tools, assets to actions, but her limited skill faltered when she tried to convey anything even remotely meaningful. She’d seen words twisted until they no longer resembled their original form, bent until they broke, given on impulse and hastily snatched back. Though she tried to avoid the last, she’d been guilty of all three at some time or other. 

Hell, before the bombs, bending words to her will was practically her job description.

Even if she could find the perfect way to tell him, what made her think her words were worth any more than the air that carried them? Was that reason enough not to try?

His name was little more than a soft exhale as Ying once again chose action over talk and ran her fingers over the lined and pitted skin that stretched across his cheekbone. His hands came up to frame the contours of her face and she tilted her head just enough to bridge the gap between them, her lashes fluttering closed as their lips met.  

The kiss was slow and sweet, tenderness in favor of passion, though the faint tendrils of heat that stirred low in her belly told her it could easily have gone the other way under different circumstances. For now, she focused on telling him everything she couldn’t say, as though she could get him to understand through her touch alone. Her fingers curled around the back of his neck as her thumb swept along the corner of his jaw, a promise and apology in every caress. She’d waited too long, and it had almost been too late.

His lips were dry but softer than she expected, and tasted of cigarettes and the artificial tang of berry mentats. One of his hands drifted to her hip, the other sliding through her hair, and then he pulled back to break the kiss.

“You don’t want this, Ying,” Hancock said quietly, looking away.

She laughed at that, too giddy to pay his words any mind. “A mayor _and_ a mind reader,” she mocked lightly. “Who would have thought.”

He dropped his hands in his lap and it couldn’t have stung more if he’d actually slapped her. “I’m serious.”

“And what about you?” Ying tried to keep the bite from her tone but she was still reeling from the sudden wall he’d thrown up between them. “You’ve got the balls to go on about what _I_ want, but you haven’t said anything about what you want.”

Hancock shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but he looked past her when he spoke. “Depends on what you’re lookin’ for. I’ve had my share of curiosity, doll. And pity. I don’t want either. Not from you.”

Ying blinked, taken aback. “You think that’s what I’m after?” She shook her head, adamant about getting that particular point across. “I’m no good at this shit – I’ve told you that – but I’m not looking for novelty or some kind of one night stand.”

She hesitated, fearful of repeating past mistakes. She’d mistaken friendship for something more with Nate and it had haunted both of them throughout their marriage, destroying what little trust they’d managed to build between them. They’d had the potential to grow into the type of bond that had been rare even back then. Instead, they’d tried to rush things and warped that fragile link into something it was never meant to be. They’d tossed around pretty words, but neither of them truly understood their significance, or the commitment they were making when they said them. It had been too much, too fast, until it crumbled around them, bitter as ash.

She could blame all of that on the ignorance of youth, but she was older now and no longer had that excuse. If she hadn’t learned from anything from the experience, it was her own fault.

“You welcomed me when I had nowhere else to go,” Ying began, hating the way her voice quavered, but unable to stop it. “Even when I made it a point to be a pain in the ass just to see what I could get away with. Most people would have tried to make an example out of me after I broke into your storeroom, but you didn’t. You kept me from turning my back on the only place that’s ever felt like home and you’ve been by my side every step of the way since I walked into Goodneighbor, despite me causing nothing but trouble for you.”

“I told ya, you’re my kind of trouble,” Hancock laughed and then sobered as he added, “I’m a ghoul, doll.”

_Well, yeah._

“Wait..what?” Ying gasped, widening her eyes and flinging a dramatic hand over her heart. “How could you keep something like that from me? Scandal, Hancock. Absolute scandal.”

“You done?” Hancock asked, thoroughly unimpressed with her theatrics.

“Almost. Just give me a minute to recover from the shock,” she grinned, fanning her face and fluttering her lashes.

“Get it outta your system,” he advised dryly. “I’ll wait.”

“I think I’ve made my point.”

“You weren’t far off the mark, though. People are gonna talk.”

“So they talk,” Ying shrugged. “If it goes beyond that, I hand them their teeth. Problem solved.”

She tilted her head up at him and her expression grew serious. “I don’t care about any of that. I… you’re really fucking important to me, Hancock. If I made a mistake – if I was wrong about there being something more...”

Hancock shook his head, his mouth softening into a crooked smile. “Been yours for a while now, Ying -  woulda thought that much was obvious. But c’mon, do you really wanna wake up to this face everyday?”

It was another out, another chance for her to change her mind and back out gracefully, and Ying had to fight against the urge to roll her eyes. She’d been waking up to his face for months now, but since this was clearly a sticking point with him, she’d do her best not to make light of it anymore.

“I’m rather fond of this face,” she replied, tracing the ridges and dips in his cheek. Her eyes tracked the slow progress of her finger as she followed the pattern of scars and gnarled flesh up and across the arch of his cheekbone, trailing down the line of his jaw to the curve of his chin. “If it means I get to do this,” she added, leaning in to brush her lips against his, “If it means I get to _keep_ waking up to it, I think I’ll manage.”

Hancock wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face against her neck, letting out a breath that fluttered the ends of her hair. “I ain’t gonna pretend to understand what you want with someone like me, but runnin’ with you was the best damn decision I ever made.”

Ying craned her neck so she could see him, the corners of her mouth drawn in skepticism. “Running with me just got you blown up, Hancock.”

The ghoul huffed a muffled laugh, his breath warm against her skin. “Yeah? Look what else it got me,” he sighed happily, his arms tightening around her in emphasis. “I’ll make that trade any day of the week.”

She wanted to argue that there were only a handful of very limited circumstances where a head injury could be considered an acceptable part of any transaction but it was hard to think when he was holding her like she was the only one left in the world, his eyes a perfect mirror of all those things she didn’t know how to say.

Ying buried her face in his shoulder, dangerously close to crying. Even more frustrating was that she had no idea _why_.  They were both alive and whole and as safe as they could possibly be out in the ruins, and they’d even advanced their friendship to...whatever this was. As bad as the day began, it had worked out better than she had any right to hope for. The time for crying had passed, and yet here she was, doing her damnedest to avoid covering Hancock’s coat in tears and snot.

When the urge finally passed, Hancock ran a hand down the dark stripe of her hair. “You wanna get some rest?” he asked quietly, rubbing his cheek against the shaved side of her head. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

It was still early in the day, too early to sleep yet, but Ying was exhausted and there was a headache building behind her eyes so she just nodded. She meant to move, find a corner somewhere with space of her own. Hancock couldn’t have been comfortable with her draped over him like she was, but somehow she never made it that far.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some gore, but no other major warnings. Thanks as always to everyone that reviews or leaves kudos!

Ying woke to the feel of worn denim beneath her cheek and the warm weight of an arm slung across her back. The station was bathed in deep shadows when she opened her eyes, lit only by the soft glow of a lantern. She’d changed position at some point while she slept and was stretched out on the dirty tile, her head in Hancock’s lap. The ghoul looked up from the issue of Guns and Bullets he was thumbing through and set the magazine aside as he smiled down at her.

“Mornin’.”

“Is it?”

Blinking in surprise, Ying at up and rubbed at her eyes, squinting at what she could see of the windows from their position behind the counter. The sliver of sky visible from behind the counter was already streaked with the first rays of dawn.

Hancock shrugged. “Close enough.”

“You should have woke me up,” Ying mumbled as she grabbed some water and a pack of cigarettes from their supplies.

Gnarled brows raised in amusement, Hancock shook his head. “Like pokin’ a yao guai, doll. If the place ain’t on fire or fallin’ down around us, I can wait.”

Ying made a rude gesture at the ghoul as she lit a cigarette. “First a brahmin, and now a yao guai. Any other wildlife you’d like to compare me to?”

When Hancock pretended to think about it, she threw the pack at him. The teasing curl of his lips turned smug as he caught the projectile with a crinkle of cellophane and shook out his own cigarette. They smoked in silence for several minutes, and then shared a box of Sugar Bombs.

Two hundred odd years hadn’t improved the cereal’s taste, but food was food, and travel meant sticking to packaged stuff  that wouldn’t spoil in the heat.

The sky had lightened to a dull gray by the time they were ready to hit the road, and though Ying was eager to get going, Hancock wouldn’t leave without his tricorn.  It took them close to half an hour of searching the street to find it, but when they did, his triumphant grin as he placed it on his head was contagious. It wouldn’t stop her from giving him shit, but the hat was as much icon as accessory; it had been strange to see Hancock without it.

They made good time, even with the cautious pace Ying insisted on, up until they reached Concord. The place had been crawling with raiders when she last came through. Once they were removed, she’d expected someone to take their place. Concord hadn’t escaped its share of damage from the bombs, but many of the houses remained intact. As far as most people in the ‘Wealth were concerned, that made it prime real estate.

Odd then, that the town was as still and silent as she’d left it all those months ago.

Brows drawn into a heavy frown, Ying slid her combat knife from her belt, the solid weight of it a reassuring counter to the unease that prickled the hairs at the back of her neck. Umber eyes strained to catch the slightest flicker of movement. Nothing grabbed her attention, but the feeling of wrong worming its way into her gut persisted.

“Watch yourself,” Hancock muttered as he loaded a couple shells into his shotgun. “Somethin’ ain’t right.”

He felt it too, then, that vague tingle of alarm.

Ying glanced at a manhole a few feet away, her shoulders twitching in a shiver of dread as she tightened her grip around the hilt of her knife. She remembered all too clearly what came out of Concord’s sewers the last time, and was not eager to repeat the experience. Giving the sewer access a wide berth, Ying hurried past. For all she knew, there could have been an entire family of those things living down there. The thought further hastened her steps; the sooner they were out of this place, the better.

As they passed the gutted remains of a hardware store, something shifted in the shadowed interior and Ying froze in her tracks, every nerve ending on alert. A rasping snarl and Hancock’s shout of warning bought her just enough time to bring her knife up before something leapt at her, impaling itself on the blade. Steel sank into flesh with surprisingly little resistance and the stench of torn entrails assailed her, turning her stomach as she staggered back into the rusted frame of a truck. Cold fingers gripped her upper arms with bruising force and she found herself staring into a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

 _Feral_.

More were coming, climbing to their feet and shuffling for the door, but Ying had no attention to spare as the ghoul snapped its broken teeth so close  she could feel the fetid puff of its breath against her neck. Twisting her upper body until she could wrench free of its grasp, she hissed as the feral’s ragged nails tore at her bicep, and slammed her elbow just above its nasal cavity. The bone gave with a wet crunch, as yielding as rotted wood, but the ghoul didn’t go down.

It swung a clumsy arm, and Ying threw her own up to stop it from clawing at her face and yanked at the knife still embedded in its abdomen with her free hand. Pivoting to avoid a rush of foul-smelling fluid as the knife came free, she used her momentum to  drive the blade up and under the feral’s chin. A shudder ran through the emaciated body as it’s eyes rolled back. Only then was she aware of the stream of angry clicks her Pipboy was emitting.

Breathing hard, Ying gave the feral a shove and shook the gunk off her knife, but there was no time for a break. Hancock was doing his best to hold the attention of the others, but it wasn’t him they were interested in. One broke away to sprint towards her and she braced herself,  waiting just long enough to see another follow before she pulled herself into the bed of the truck and scrabbled to the top of the cab.

_Well, fuck._

Hancock snarled a curse and then fired into the belly of the feral closest to him. After it dropped, he turned and rammed the butt of his shotgun into the back of another’s head, but there were still too many. Half a dozen more ran for Ying and surrounded her below her perch on top of the truck. They hadn’t figured out a way up yet, but with the way they were clambering over one another in an effort to reach her, it was only a matter of time until one of them got in a lucky grab.

One taller than the rest knocked its fellow aside and swung an arm at her feet. Ying stomped down hard on its hand, ignoring the nauseating crack of splintering bone, and slashed across the empty, glowing eyes. Blinding it wouldn’t do much besides slow it down, but she’d take what she could get. The geiger counter on her Pipboy was still having a fit, and even if the ferals didn’t manage to drag her off of the truck, all the rads they were throwing couldn’t be healthy.

“Your gun, Ying!” Hancock growled as he stabbed a ghoul and dragged the knife from belly to sternum with a vicious twist of his arm.  “You have a fucking gun!”

Biting her lip against a surge of embarrassed anger, Ying buried her blade in the throat of a feral and drew her .44 from its place on her hip.  In truth, she’d forgotten all about the gun. Reaching for her knife was her first instinct, and for all her practice, she still wasn’t a very good shot.  Skill didn’t really matter when range was measured in inches instead of yards, and the ferals didn’t have the sense to try to move out of the way.

A rather anticlimactic end to the fight, in her opinion. Shooting fish in a barrel, or whatever Nate used to say, up until she fired the last last round in the chamber. As she fumbled to reload, a withered hand closed around her ankle and yanked her off balance. Ying landed on her ass, her pistol clattering across the cab and slipping to the ground.  She grabbed the frame of the truck to keep herself from falling off and kicked out in an effort to free break free, but the ghoul held on, pulling on her leg in a surprising burst of strength.

It let out a snarl, twisting its clawed fingers into the hem of her jeans and gave another sharp tug.  

Ying grit her teeth and suddenly let go, sliding over the side of the cab and tumbling to the asphalt, the feral beneath her.

Unarmed, she used the advantage of her position and pinned one of the ghoul’s arms with her knee, planting the other firmly in its sunken chest. It flailed and kicked, but Ying refused to be unseated. Movement flashed in her peripheral, the dark blur of red indicating it was Hancock. Without taking her eyes off of the feral, she snapped, “Knife!”

When the hilt was placed in her waiting hand, she adjusted her grip with a flick of her wrist and drove the blade down. The feral stiffened and spasmed before slowly going limp. When it didn’t move again, Ying wiped the blade clean on the tattered remains of its shirt and got to her feet.

The town was quiet again, the feeling of eyes on her back now absent. She held the knife out in her open palm for Hancock to take and then bent to retrieve her own weapons, careful to avoid looking too closely at the bodies.  To look was to _see_ , and no matter how much she pitied them for what they’d lost, the next breath was always a sigh of relief. _Thank fuck it wasn’t me._

Ying reloaded her revolver and jammed it back in her belt, anxious to leave. Any other foe would have been searched for useful supplies -- spoils of war and all that -- but ferals were her one exception. The portraits hidden away in lockets, the initials engraved on a pocket watch, the faces peering up at her from cracked ID cards and faded photographs all served as proof that these shambling husks of radiation and decay were once people.  She might have passed some of them in the supermarket, or walked beside them on her way to work. Sifting through what little remained of their lives for a few caps felt like robbing their graves.

“Far be it from me to judge, doll,” Hancock’s lazy drawl broke into her thoughts as they started walking again.  “But it seems a little late to be afraid of ‘em now.”

“I’m not,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not like that. They just...get to me.”

“Most folks’ll tell you the same.”

It wasn’t the tone of his voice or the grin he flashed, but the slight dip of his brow, the quick press of already thin lips that warned Ying her vague admission had struck an exposed nerve Hancock tried hard to keep hidden.

“Don’t,” she said, her hand darting out to grab his. “That’s not what I meant, so just get it out of your head.” Ying paused to pick at the dark crescents of her nails as she tried to explain. “It’s not what they are that bothers me, it’s what they were. Every run-in with a feral is this fucked up game of questions.

“Did I know them? Shake hands with them at some stupid event? Hold the door for them? Did I pretend to be polite, or were they one of those assholes that wasn’t worth the trouble? Even if they were, did they really deserve _this_? Does anyone?”

Hancock pulled his hand free and wrapped an arm around her. “I get it,” he said quietly. “But whoever they were, they ain’t anymore -- no matter how familiar the face.”

“I know that. I just… .”

“Yeah.”

It occurred to her then Hancock probably wasn’t the best person to have this conversation with; not because he didn’t understand, but because he understood _too_ well, if not for the same reasons. Did he look at ferals and see a bullet dodged, or a grim glimpse of his own future? She didn’t believe any of that ‘going feral’ bullshit, but she didn’t grow up hearing it spouted as fact, either.

“Come on,” she sighed, squeezing his hand. “We’re almost there.”

Ying  hadn’t been fond of Sanctuary Hills before the bombs. Everything about the idyllic little neighborhood had been a lie, a false utopia for a community that was determined to ignore the suffering around it. Two hundred years hadn’t improved her opinion, but the rust and decay gave it a sense of honesty that was lacking before and she liked the new residents much better than the previous ones. Preston’s group didn’t cling to willful ignorance to preserve their ideals of the American dream -- they knew exactly how cold the world could be.

Preston met them at the end of the bridge. With the man’s constant patrolling, Ying wasn’t surprised. After introductions were made, it was clear from his wary expression that Preston knew of Hancock at least, and found his reputation less than desirable. He kept whatever misgivings he had to himself though, so she left it alone. His opinions were his own and he was welcome to them; she just didn’t necessarily want to hear all of  them.

“It’s good to have you back, Ying,” Preston said as they followed the road into Sanctuary. “Have you had any luck with your son?”

“Yes and no,” she shrugged. “I know where he is, I just have no way of getting there. Yet.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, pausing to flash the minuteman a sardonic grin. “Unless you know a back way into the Institute?”

Preston’s mouth dropped open in shock, his wide eyes searching her face for some sign that she was joking. “The Institute…” he breathed. “The Institute has your son? That’s...that’s rough. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I’ve got something to look into, at least. That’s why I’m here, actually. I might be dropping out of radio contact for a while.”

“Where are you headed?”

“To try to track down some Institute deserter in the Glowing Sea.” Preston’s brow furrowed in skepticism and Ying cocked her head as she considered him. “It always sounds crazy when I try to explain it to someone that wasn’t there,” she mused, half to herself. “But if this guy’s still around, he knows a way in. It’s all I’ve got, so that’s where I’m going. I just wanted to let you know because I have no idea how well the radio’s going to handle that many rads.”

“Appreciate the heads-up, Ying. Take care of yourself out there.” He hesitated, eyes sliding toward Hancock. “Since you’re here, I wondered if you had a minute?”

“Of course, Preston,” Ying agreed, deliberately obtuse. If he wanted Hancock to excuse himself, the least he could do was come out and say so.

The ghoul had no trouble picking up on the other man’s unspoken signal, either. “I’ll just show myself around,” he drawled, face splitting into an easy grin. “Come find me when you’re done.”

Ying watched him go, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. His cocky swagger seemed even more exaggerated than normal. “Five minutes,” she called.

“No rush, doll.”

“The mayor of Goodneighbor, huh? I’m not sure I even want to know what led you to a place like that.”

“The mayor of Diamond City tossing me out on my ass,” she said shortly. “Goodneighbor’s not as bad as people claim. No worse than anywhere else, at least. They’re just more honest about it.”

“I’ve never been there, but the things I’ve heard...I’ll just take your word for it. Look, I wanted to ask if you’d reconsidered what we talked about last.”

Her lips pursed in confusion as she thought for a moment. “You mean the Minutemen?”

“Yeah. I know you have problems of your own, but I can’t do this by myself, Ying.”

Ying sighed. They’d been over this the first time he asked her. “That’s not me, Preston. I told you, I’ll help in any way I can, but I’m not cut out for that kind of thing - I’m sure as hell not who you want for your general.”

The very thought of people looking up to her, depending on decisions she made left her stomach in knots and the title Preston wanted to bestow on her made her skin crawl.  She liked the idea of the Minutemen, the common folk banding together to protect each other from the danger of the ‘Wealth, but without oversight by the very people they were supposed to be protecting, reforming the militia seemed like an idea that was destined to end in a case of history repeating itself.

Preston dipped his head, his face a mask of disappointment. “I disagree, but I can see I’m not going to change your mind.”

“No, Preston, I’m sorry. I’ll help any settlement you want. You find a decent spot for a new one, I’ll help you set it up. Hell, I’ll even help you clear out the Castle. I fully support bringing the people of the Commomwealth together, but I’m not going to lead the Minutemen. I don’t belong in that position any more than you do; I don’t think any one person does.”

“I get it,” he said at last. “I guess I can’t really fault you for something I’m not willing to do myself. I’m just glad you’re still on our side.”

“That’s not going to change,” Ying said firmly. “Whatever I can do, I will. Speaking of, I have some time to kill. You guys need a hand with anything?”

“Nothing comes to mind, but Sturges might have something. He’s always got some project or other in the works.”

“I’ll check with him.”

“Thanks. It really is good to see you again Ying.” He held out his hand and Ying shook it, nodding once in acknowledgement.

“You, too, Preston.”

They parted ways, Preston resuming his patrol and Ying off to catch up with Hancock.

The ghoul hadn’t wandered far. He was waiting for her a couple houses down, leaning against a wall with peeling yellow paint, a cigarette in hand as he watched the rest of the small settlement.

“Not a bad setup they got here,” he murmured in appreciation. “A bit open, for my liking, but otherwise, not bad.”

Sanctuary hadn’t expanded much this close to the bridge, but most of the houses near the center of the settlement had been cleared of debris and claimed by the group. They’d converted another yard into land for farming in her absence, and a new batch of crops was ready for harvest. The turrets Ying helped put up still seemed to be in decent shape, but those had been a temporary measure of protection. Better than nothing at the time, but Hancock was right. They were going to need to improve their defenses; it was only a matter of time before word got out about the place and raiders decided to drop by.

“They’ve done well for themselves,” she agreed. It wasn’t quite the booming settlement Mama Murphy had promised, but Ying was pleased to see that they were thriving. She hadn’t done anything other than follow the road with the rest of them to get there, and they’d all worked to get the place habitable, but she was proud of what the Quincy group was building.

Snatching the ghoul’s cigarette, she brought it to her lips for a quick drag before handing it back. “You didn’t have to leave earlier, you know. I wasn’t going to ask you to.”

“Neither was he,” Hancock chuckled. “Figured I’d be nice since it seemed important.”

“It is important,” Ying sighed. “It’s just not something I can do.”

“What’s he want?” Hancock held out the remains of his cigarette to her and Ying took it with a little nod of thanks.

“To bring back the Minutemen. I can get behind that, but he wants to put _me_ in charge.” She shook her head, exhaled a cloud of stale smoke, and flicked the extinguished butt toward the street. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Can’t say I blame ya, there. Bein’ in charge is a whole lot of cleanin’ up other people’s messes.”

“I think I’d be the one making most of them. Besides, I’m not sure the Commonwealth is ready for that again. There’s not enough trust after Quincy and most people are too focused on just trying to survive another day. It’d be too easy for the wrong person to take advantage of that.

“Bring the people together first, give them a voice, and then _they_ can decide the terms of a militia.”

Hancock stared at her in surprise a moment before his face softened into a smile. “You’re not wrong, doll. But without somethin’ like the Minutemen to rally around, folks are never gonna get past livin’ day to day. Without someone to lead them, the Minutemen are never gonna be more than Garvey’s wishful thinkin’. If you wanna put that power in the people’s hands at some point, the person in charge of the Minutemen needs to be willing to step aside when the time’s right. A lot of folks are gonna find that hard.”

“And you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t think you’d be able to get away fast enough,” the ghoul chuckled. Ying frowned at that and Hancock shook his head, running a finger down her cheek. “Everyone’s got their price --and I ain’t necessarily talkin’ about caps-- but I don’t think yours is an army, love. You’re not the type to let someone else do your dirty work.”

It was an odd thing to be comforted by, and yet she was. It was easy to tell herself she wouldn’t abuse that kind of power, but how many people made similar claims, right up until they found themselves doing exactly that? Ying still didn’t want to lead the Minutemen, but Hancock’s belief that she wouldn’t automatically become the very thing she hated left her open to further discussion.

“I’ll think about it,” Ying said after a few minutes. “Maybe I’ll talk to Preston about it again, come up with some kind of compromise.”

“Somethin’ worth considerin’, at least,” the ghoul nodded. “But don’t feel like you gotta do this. You got plenty of shit piled on you right now, doll. Nothin’ wrong with tryin’ to sort some of that out first.”

“Yeah.” It was overwhelming at times, the sheer number of people that needed help while her own problems hovered in the background. Sometimes trying to help someone else took her mind off her own shit, but sometimes it just added more for her to deal with. Focusing on damage control for a while might not be a bad idea.

“Do you want to see the rest of the place? I can show you around,” Ying offered, ready to change the subject. If she didn’t have to think about it now, she wasn’t going to.

“Sure, doll. Lead the way.”

Ying spent the rest of the day showing Hancock around and making introductions with the rest of the group. Sanctuary hadn’t been a large neighborhood even back when it was fully populated, but stopping to chat with the other settlers took up most of their time. Sturges and Codsworth, her Mr. Handy model that somehow managed to survive the bombs, were especially eager to talk. Ying spoke with them until she met her tolerance for socializing and then sat back to listen and observe, not quite excusing herself, but making it clear she no longer wished to contribute to the conversation.

While it was a familiar scene, the way Hancock could walk up to a complete stranger and start talking to them as if they’d known each other their entire lives, still baffled Ying. Despite the little moments of uncertainty she’d learned to pick up on during their time together, Hancock carried himself with the kind of confidence that indicated he was used to, and even thrived on, the attention of others. As someone who spent most of her time trying to avoid that very thing, she found this aspect of the ghoul’s personality both fascinating and exhausting.

Late that night, when everyone else headed for their beds, Ying chose one of the empty houses down by the bridge to sleep in. The house she’d shared with Nate had been kept untouched out of some misguided sense of respect, but she didn’t even glance in that direction as she and Hancock passed. Preston could burn it to the ground, for all she cared. It never had felt like home.

They spent the next several days in Sanctuary. Ying hadn’t been kidding when she said she had time to kill and Sturges, as promised, had a number of small projects he was only too happy to have help with. Repairing fences and turrets, maintaining the water pumps, tending the crops, digging trenches for a wall. Ying remembered some of it from her time with them after the vault, but she still required an embarrassing amount of instruction. She learned fast though, and an extra set of hands seemed worth the patience required to show her how something was done. When Sturges ran out of things to do, Preston sent them to clear out a nearby farm.

It was tiring, but it felt good to be back out and doing something again. She slept better than she had in weeks, and gradually, her worries over Pickman and the Glowing Sea faded.

A little over two weeks had passed when a familiar restlessness crept in and Ying was ready to head home. They made plans to leave the following day. She woke late that morning to discover that Hancock had already risen and left her to sleep. Muttering to herself, she pulled on her jeans and left the little house in search of the ghoul.

She found the ghoul at the main house sitting on the patio next to Mama Murphy and sharing a canister of jet. His generosity with chems hadn’t earned him any points with Preston, but in Ying’s opinion, Preston needed to lighten up. No one knew exactly how old Mama Murphy was, but she was well past the age of coddling and anyone that managed to survive the Commonwealth for as long as she had deserved to do whatever she damned well pleased.

Mama Murphy smiled up at her as Ying came over, clouded blue eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Hey, Mama,” Ying greeted, taking a seat on the other side of the older woman’s chair.

“Hey, kid. Come to say goodbye?”

Ying nodded. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. I see Hancock beat me to it.”

“He’s a good one. Reminds me of someone I used to know a long, long time ago.” Mama Murphy turned a knowing smile on the ghoul, her eyes distant. “Funny ain’t it, how running from trouble can lead you right to it? But no...that’s not right,” she added with a croaking laugh. “Trouble came to _you_ this time.”

A tingle of unease ran down Ying’s spine as she met Hancock’s eyes in alarm. If Mama Murphy wanted to sit around and get stoned, that was her choice, but it looked like it was going to be one of _those_ highs. The old woman’s visions were vague, but Ying could piece together enough to see that Mama Murphy was alluding to things she had no business knowing.

In the past, this was usually when Ying beat a hasty retreat. The visions were just accurate enough to creep her the fuck out and she wanted no part of them, but she couldn’t find the will to leave when Mama Murphy leaned down from her chair to whisper something to Hancock that Ying couldn’t quite make out.

Until now, she hadn’t known it was even possible for a ghoul to blanch, but before she could ask what the hell she said, Mama Murphy turned to face her, features slack.

“And you sure got yourself in a mess of trouble this time, didn’t you child?” Her eyes were vacant, but her mouth was  twisted into a frown of sympathy.

Ying wanted to beg her to stop -- some things just weren’t worth knowing -- but she couldn’t find her voice and stood rooted as the old woman continued.

“I see you. You're hunter...and prey. He watches while he waits...so _cold_. The rage fills him up...spills over red on the brush until there’s nothing left. The pictures bring peace, but it never lasts.

“He’s got it out for you, kid. The cut’s scarred but it still runs deep...reminds him that he’s hollow. He ain’t going to stop. Not ‘til you’re as empty as him.”

Mama Murphy’s face cleared and she slumped in her chair as the vision receded. She grabbed Ying’s hand, pressing it between her own frail fingers. Her voice was heavy, the high replaced by deep exhaustion as she said, “I’m sorry. I can’t see him clearly, but he’s _dangerous_ , kid. I need to rest now, but I can try again later.”

“No!”  Biting her lip, Ying took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “No,” she repeated, calmer than her first attempt. “There’s no need for that. I...I already know who it is.”

“You be careful out there,” the old woman murmured, already nodding off.

“I will.” Ying carefully extricated her hand and jerked her head at Hancock. She didn’t wait to see if the ghoul was following before she started for the bridge.

“The hell was that?” Hancock asked once he caught up with her.

“The fucking Oracle of Delphi,” Ying muttered. “I told you, she does that sometimes. It’s usually not that bad, but she hasn’t been wrong yet… .”

“...Fuck.”

The word was a barely audible whisper, so faint she had to strain her ears to hear it.

“What did she say to you?”

Hancock hesitated and Ying whirled to face him, clenching her teeth in an effort to steady her voice. “John? What did she say?”

Hancock’s answer was reluctant, the ghoul unable to meet her eyes. “She said if I wanna keep you, I have to lose you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for the long break. This was another rough chapter to write. Lots and lots of hugs to Raiven_Raine for helping me out with some ideas for this chapter. 
> 
> Warnings:This chapter deals with a mental break, and I'll be adding that to the main tags. There are also some graphic descriptions of gore, and the usual language warning applies.

Mama Murphy’s words repeated in Ying’s mind as she propped a skewer of radstag meat over the flames of their small fire.  The old woman had been vague, as usual, but made just enough sense that Ying couldn’t outright dismiss her warning. As usual. She still didn’t understand most of what Mama had told her, and trying to figure it out only made her head hurt, but the underlying message was clear: Pickman might have been quiet lately, but if the vision could be trusted, he was only biding his time. He still had her in his sights, and he wasn’t going to give up - not that Ying had given him much of a reason to.  

So far, she’d done nothing but dance along to whatever tune he happened to play. It wasn’t by choice, of course, but her brilliant idea to ignore the serial killer like a naughty toddler hadn’t had much effect; he was still as elusive as ever.

It would never end, she realized, not while they were both still breathing. If Pickman wanted her dead, he’d had ample opportunity. No, he wanted more. He wanted her helpless, broken and at his mercy. It was like the camp in some ways, worse in others. She’d known what to expect there, had someone to fight against, for all the good it usually did her.  There were no walls or turrets now, but her freedom was just an illusion. Pickman’s shadow followed wherever she went, and there was no escaping it. It was a different kind of prison, but this one was in some part her own design.

“I think it’s done, doll.”

Ying blinked at Hancock’s amused voice. About the same time, the acrid stench of burning meat filled her nose. Muttering a curse, she attempted to rescue the skewer from where it had fallen into the fire and then let out a defeated sigh as she got a good look at their meal, more charcoal than meat. “Damn it.”

She didn’t have much of an appetite, but waste always left Ying feeling a little ill. Even before the war, another meal could mean another day. She hadn’t been in that predicament herself since her early years on the streets, but the memories were enough to set her stomach cramping with phantom pangs. With a grimace, she tossed the ruined meat back into the fire and dug a package of snack cakes from their supplies. “Sorry,” she murmured, holding them out to the ghoul.

“I already knew you couldn’t cook,” Hancock teased as he reached for the cakes. “And I don’t think we’re gonna starve before we make it back to Goodneighbor.” His grin did nothing to soften the crease between his brow or the stiff set of his shoulders; the attempt at humor was for her benefit. She let a corner of her mouth quirk in a half-hearted response and was rewarded when the ghoul relaxed slightly, his expression less forced.

Neither of them did more than pick at their food, but the following silence wasn’t as strained as their previous attempts at conversation. Ying had never seen Hancock as shaken as when they’d left Sanctuary, but she had nothing to offer him in the way of reassurance or comfort. If he wanted to pretend that everything was fine, she wasn’t going to argue.  That lasted until he spoke again.

“Daisy ought to have that suit by now. Might wanna check when we get back.”

Ying only shrugged, suddenly engrossed in tracing her finger over the flowing script on the package of cakes. “Maybe.”

“Your son-”

“Is safe where he is,” she finished, ducking her head so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. She believed that much, at least, but it was hard to ignore the insistent little voice that demanded she continue her search and stop making excuses, that her intentions were more about _her_ than Shaun. Maybe, maybe not, but Ying couldn’t bear to see that same suspicion in Hancock’s face.

“You can’t do that, doll.”

There was no chiding in his tone, but all she could focus on were the words as her head snapped up and her eyes widened in disbelief. “What do you suggest? You think bringing a kid into this shit with Pickman is a good idea?”

Hancock was shaking his head before she could finish. “That’s not what I’m sayin’. You can’t let him do this to you. If you’re too afraid to live, he’s already won.”

“Hasn’t he?” Ying snorted. “You heard Mama Murphy.”

“I heard someone stoned out of her mind,” he hedged.

“I told you, she’s never been wrong. I thought it was some bullshit con at first, too, Hancock, but she _knows_ things. The first time we met, she knew about Shaun, that he was still alive, that I’m from… from before. I never told anyone that, but she knew.  And don’t try to tell me she didn’t ring any bells when she started that shit on you, because I know better.”

The reminder seemed to unsettle him, but if they were going to talk about this, they were damn well going to _talk_ , all or nothing.

“I don’t know,” the ghoul sighed, after a few moments had passed. “I’ve seen a lot of weird, but that was something else.”

“No kidding.”

The memory of Nick’s agency stood out the strongest. The bright heart Mama Murphy spoke of had sounded like mad ravings until Ying actually found the detective and the neon sign he used as a logo. All the little pieces had fallen into place with such eerie precision Ying was forced to accept there was more to Mama’s visions than just chems.

“But did she really tell you anything new?” Hancock asked. “You already know about Pickman and what he’s capable of. Nothin’s all that different from where I’m sittin’, doll.”

It _was_ different, but Ying found it difficult to explain why.  Maybe it was just that Mama’s vision hit too close to what was already going on. She already had one creep spying on her, and while she’d never before considered the visions to be in the same category,  it still felt like an invasion, another indication of how far matters had spiralled out of her control, whether that was the intent or not.  She hadn’t asked for help, or for another person to be privy to a matter she still considered deeply private. It was all too much, and she was suddenly overwhelmed by a desperate need to distance herself, but that numb detachment had never been at her command.

Ying looked at Hancock, raising a hand in a helpless gesture before she drew it into a tight fist and let it fall to her lap. “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly.  “I just...I don’t know anymore, John. This shit is driving me crazy.”

_And it probably wasn’t that long of a trip to begin with, even before Pickman._

Hancock pulled her into a hug and dropped a kiss to her forehead. “I know, but Pickman isn’t gonna get away with this.” His voice faded to a near whisper when he added, “Nothin’s gonna happen to you.”

Resting her forehead against his chest, Ying nodded, fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. She wasn’t certain if that last part had been meant for her ears or if he was just trying to convince himself, but the words fell flat either way. There were ways to hurt a person without ever raising a hand against them. Sinjin had shown her that. It wasn’t her Ying was worried about.

They made it back to Goodneighbor a few hours later, and it wasn’t long before Hancock had a line of people that needed ‘just a moment’ of his time. It was always like this after they’d been away from town. Once Ying had started traveling with Hancock, a few had even tried using her to get a word with the mayor, but she’d put a stop to that as soon as it started. She neither had nor wanted any part in Goodneighbor affairs, and that was the way it was going to stay.

Hancock met her gaze, just as a familiar drifter stepped forward. Ying tilted her head toward the other woman, lips curling in a smug grin at the slight slump in the mayor’s shoulders as he realized just who wanted to talk with him.

“Now that you’re back Mayor, do you have time to hear my proposal?” Without waiting for a reply, the woman launched into a carefully prepared speech, one Ying had heard at least twice already, before the mayor could cut her off.

Ying mouthed ‘have fun’ and waggled her fingers in a little wave, her grin only widening at the dark look the ghoul sent her before he reluctantly turned his attention to trying to explain why a monorail just wasn’t going to work in Goodneighbor. Still chuckling to herself, Ying headed for Daisy’s.

She didn’t see any customers as she approached the shop, but Daisy was leaning against the counter as she chatted with one of the men from the Neighborhood Watch.

The ghoul looked over long enough to acknowledge Ying with a smile before returning to her conversation. Not wanting to eavesdrop, Ying took a seat on a nearby bench as she waited, grinning to herself when Daisy laughed at something her partner said and dropped her gaze to the counter in a brief moment of uncharacteristic shyness. Ghouls didn’t exactly blush, but she was certain if it were possible, the shop owner would be a lovely shade of pink right now.

After a few minutes, the man left to resume his patrol, and Daisy waved her over. Dogmeat peeked from behind the counter and let out a happy bark as Ying approached, bounding toward her, pink tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. She staggered back with a grunt as he stretched up on his hind legs, front paws landing against her chest.

“Down, boy,” Ying laughed as the dog licked at her face. She struggled to push the him off of her, but he wouldn’t budge. “Alright, alright,” she relented, fingers sinking into the thick fur around his neck as she gave him a good scratch. “I missed you, too, brat.”

Ying felt a little guilty at leaving him in Goodneighbor for so long, but the ruins were dangerous at the best of times. With Pickman added to the mix, she wasn’t going to take chances. A man that had no qualms with cutting up people for kicks wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to an animal. Dogmeat dropped back on all fours and Ying gave him one final pat, turning grateful eyes towards Daisy. “Thanks for taking care of him for me.”

“He’s no trouble,” Daisy assured her with a smile. “I like the company and he keeps some of the more unscrupulous folks here from getting ideas.”

“I noticed he’s not the only one keeping you company,” Ying teased with a wink.

Daisy grabbed a rag and began wiping down the counter. “I noticed a floor that needs sweeping’,” the ghoul woman retorted dryly. She jerked her head toward the broom in a corner of the shop and gave Ying a pointed look. “Since you’ve got such good eyes, maybe you could lend a hand with that.”

“Sure.” Ying grabbed the broom and then paused, smirking over her shoulder. “Will it get me all the sordid details?”

“There are no details, Ying,” Daisy scoffed, shaking her head. “Sordid or otherwise. It was just a bit of harmless flirting.”

“And here I was hoping for scandal,” Ying sighed in mock disappointment as she set to work on the floor. “Or at least something worth gossiping about.”

Setting her rag aside, Daisy propped her chin in her hand, her pleasant smile failing to mask the sudden sly gleam in her eyes. “Well, honey, if it’s gossip you’re after,   _you’re_ the one that’s got tongues waggin’.”

“Me?”

“Mmhm. You and our mayor. If you’re so interested in _details_ -”

“You win,” Ying said quickly, ducking her head to hide the embarrassed flush creeping over her cheeks. She hadn’t been deaf to the whispers around town, but up until very recently, they’d been nothing more than rumor. Now that there was a grain of truth to them, they weren’t so easy to dismiss. “Forget I asked.” Ying worked the broom furiously over the floor as Daisy cackled behind her.

“If you like.” The ghoul’s tone was smug, but she obliged by changing the subject. They made smalltalk for a while as they finished up around the shop and then Daisy asked, “Did you make any progress on findin’ your boy?”

Shaking her head, Ying sighed. “No. It looks like tracking down that scientist is still my only lead.”

“I think I can help with that,” Daisy smiled. She disappeared upstairs and returned a few minutes later carrying a thick garment bundled in one arm, a large helmet tucked under the other.  She set the helmet on the counter and unrolled the bundle to show Ying a faded orange and gray hazmat suit. “It might be a little big on you,” she began, holding the suit up against the small woman with a frown. “But all the seals are good. Just don’t go gettin’ it snagged or you’ll come home lookin’ like me.”

“I’m more concerned with dying in a puddle of my own vomit,” Ying retorted.

Daisy’s mouth tightened as she gave the other woman a stern look. “That’s not funny,” she chided. “The Glowing Sea is dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You don’t, honey. You really don’t. Anything that can live in that much radiation is best left alone.” She pulled Ying into another hug, gnarled hands gently squeezing her shoulders. “You be careful out there.”

“I will,” Ying promised softly, returning the embrace. “What do I owe you?”

The ghoul let go and stepped back, blinking a few times before her smile returned. “Oh, I’m not givin’ you the suit. It’s a loan,” she added when Ying only stared in confusion. “You bring it back when you come home.”

Ying nodded slowly in understanding. “Alright. I’ll bring it back.”

“Good. Oh, I almost forgot!” Daisy went back to the counter and reached behind it, and then set a small, paper-wrapped package in front of Ying. “A courier brought this by for you this morning. I told him I’d make sure you got it.”

“You’re sure it’s for me?” Ying asked, eyeing the package in growing dread. There were only a few people that would send her something, and fewer still that would need the services of a courier to do so.

“He asked for you by name,” Daisy confirmed. “Didn’t say who it was from, but I figured that was your business.”

Ying swallowed thickly, her mouth suddenly dry. “How…” Her voice cracked and she had to clear her throat before trying again, “How long ago did he leave?” If it was Pickman, there might still be time to catch up with him.

“I think he’s still here.” Daisy gave an absent shrug, turning her attention to counting the day’s earnings. “He mentioned wanting to rest up before heading out again, so I sent him to the Rexford.”

Maybe not Pickman then, if he was still in town, but that did little to quell the shaking of Ying’s hands as she peeled the paper back. Beneath was another slip of paper wrapped around a glass jar. She saw the logo first, and though she’d known, deep down, to expect it, the sight of the painted heart and the words above it still left her reeling.

_Soon, Killer..._

Her hands grew clammy, and Ying had to tighten her grip around the jar to keep from dropping it. It was filled with a cloudy liquid, and two dark objects, about the size of walnuts, floated inside. They were nearly black, with the smooth, rubbery appearance of raw oysters, but lacking any other sign of the decay their color should have indicated. Unable to stop herself, Ying peered in for a closer look, tilting the jar for a better angle. One of the objects bobbed, spinning slowly where it floated, and Ying clapped a hand to her mouth to muffle a cry of horror as the faint, filmy outline of an iris stared back at her.

“Ying?”

Her heart sped into a painful staccato as her ears filled with the harsh rasp of her own breath. As much as she wanted to deny what she was seeing, it was impossible when she looked into eyes like that everyday. There was no mistaking what they were or the threat Pickman intended by sending them to her.

_He ain’t going to stop, not ‘til you’re as empty as him._

Cold fear crept along her spine as the words came back to her, but this time she understood what they meant. Mama Murphy had been right again. Ying would probably survive whatever Pickman threw at her. It was what she did, what she was good at, but Hancock...losing him would gut her. There’d be nothing left. She already knew that, from the accident with the mine. Somehow, Pickman knew it, too.

“Honey, maybe you should sit down…”

She still didn’t know what to call this new, fragile thing between her and Hancock, but it pissed her off that Pickman would dare use it against her. Black rage welled up inside her as Ying threw the jar and its grisly contents into a trash can.  She heard Daisy ask if she was alright, but ignored the other woman, shaking the ghoul’s hand from her shoulder as she left the shop and stalked toward the Rexford. The game was over; Pickman had went too far, and she was done waiting. She wasn’t going to chance losing Hancock because of something she should have finished months ago.

Claire jerked her head up as Ying slammed open the hotel door, a scowl quickly replacing her look of surprise. “Just who do you think-”

“I’m looking for someone,” Ying interrupted in a cold voice, placing both hands flat on the front desk. “A courier. You can tell me what room he’s in, or I can go knocking down doors. Your choice.”

“I don’t know what you’re on, and I don’t care, but you need to go sleep it off,” Claire advised sharply. “Get out or I’ll call the Watch.”

With a feral grin, Ying pushed away from the desk and headed for the stairs. “Knocking down doors it is.”

“Get the Watch in here,” Claire shouted. “And someone find Mayor Hancock!” She hurried after her but paused at the foot of the staircase, unwilling to continue her pursuit.

Ying took the stairs two at a time until she got to the top floor. There weren’t many vacant rooms in the Rexford, and she knew most of the regular tenants from her own extended stay. The first two doors were unlocked, the rooms empty and clearly uninhabited. As she tried a third, the sound of a commotion drifted up from the floor below. She didn’t have much time.

Ying pounded on the door when the knob refused to turn. Another opened, farther down the hall, and a ghoul stuck his head out just far enough to stare curiously in her direction. Ying met his eyes and slammed the side of her fist into the door again, her mouth twisting in a humorless smirk when he ducked back inside and quickly shut the door behind him. With an impatient growl, she combed her fingers through her hair, feeling for a bobby pin. Before she could locate one, the door creaked open and she was met by a man with sandy brown hair and frightened blue eyes.

“...Yes?”

She wasn’t the best with names, but she remembered faces, and his was new.  “You’re the one looking for Ying?”

“Hey, I already delivered your package,” he said, hands raised defensively. “That ghoul that runs the shop said she’d hold it for you. If you didn’t get it, take it up with her.”

“Oh, I got it.” Ying shoved the man back into the room, hard enough to make him stumble, and stepped inside. “That’s what we’re going to talk about.”

“You can’t just barge in here!”

“I just did,” she pointed out, pushing the door closed and flipping the lock.

As the mechanism clicked into place, pure panic filled the courier’s eyes. He scrambled to the bed, Ying following close behind. She slammed into him, knocking him to the mattress and pressed a knee into his back to keep him there as she drew her knife. His hand slid beneath the pillow and Ying laid the point of her blade against the hollow at the base of his skull.

“Don’t be stupid. I don’t know what you’ve got under there, but you’ll be dead before you have a chance to use it.”

The courier froze, the only movement the fluttering of his bangs as he sucked in quick, shallow breaths. “What do you want?” he asked in a tremulous whisper.

“I told you: we’re going to talk. But first, why don’t you hand me whatever’s under that pillow? _Slowly_. We don’t need any misunderstandings.”

He eased his hand out where she could see it and held up a pipe gun for Ying to take. After checking to see that it was loaded, she put her knife away and climbed off the bed. It would be easier to gage his reactions if she wasn’t right on top of him.

Watching her carefully, the courier slowly sat up, trembling hands clenched in his lap. He licked his lips, eyes darting everywhere but her face. “O-okay. We can talk.”

Keeping the gun trained on him, Ying gave a curt nod of approval. “Good. Who are you?

“Peter - erm, Peter Hall,” he amended.

The name meant nothing to her, so she continued, “And the package, Peter? Who sent it?”

“I don’t know.”

Ying narrowed her eyes as she searched his face for any sign of deception. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not! Honest! H-he was just a guy. I needed work, and he was willing to pay. He never gave me a name, just yours and where to find you. Look, I’m not lying, I sw-”

“Fine,” Ying snapped, waving an impatient hand. “What did he look like?”

“Um, I didn’t really pay much attention….” A bead of sweat rolled down Peter’s brow as he eyed the gun and wrung his hands.

“ _Think_ ,” she hissed. “You must have seen him.”

“He had d-dark hair, I guess, and I think he had a, a beard m-maybe?” The courier rolled his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “I told you, he was just some guy!.”

“Fucking useless!” Ying jerked a hand through her hair, fingers tugging painfully on the ends. “You have to give me _something_. Where did you meet? How long ago?”

“Outside Diamond City -”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and Ying’s heart sank. She was out of time, and had learned nothing that would help her find Pickman. She stared at the door, trying to identify the voices coming down the hall, and the Peter used that momentary distraction to knock the gun from her hand. It clattered across the floor, and bounced against a wall, coming to a stop in the corner behind her. He darted from the bed and pushed past her, but Ying managed to hook one of her legs around his, bringing them both down in a tangle of limbs.

They were at the door; she could see it shudder as someone from the other side tried to kick it open. It wouldn’t last much longer under that kind of treatment, and this would all be for nothing.

The courier tried to kick her off of him, his face a grimace of effort as he strained toward the gun. Ying rammed an elbow into his side, lips pressed in grim satisfaction when he let out an explosive breath and curled in on himself. She crawled on top of him, hands fisting in the man’s shirt, and gave him a shake.

There was another loud thud, and then the splintering of wood as the door gave.

“You’re working for him!” Ying cried, unable to keep the desperate shrill from her voice. “I know you know where he is - _just fucking tell me_!”

Without warning, she was scooped up like a child, her arms pinned at her sides. She struggled and kicked, but the hold only tightened as a familiar voice rasped in her ear, “What the hell are you doing, Ying?”

With nothing to stop him, the courier scrambled to his feet and fled into the hall.

“Damn it, Hancock, let go! He’s getting away!”

“That’s the idea, doll.” Ignoring her squirming, the ghoul jerked his head toward the door, speaking to someone she couldn’t see. “You and Tommy make sure our friend there doesn’t leave town. Not until we figure this out. Fahr, give me a minute, but don’t go far.”

“Yeah, boss.”

“And you,” the ghoul lowered his voice so only Ying could hear, “need to calm the fuck down. _Christ_ , doll. If you could see yourself…”

When she stopped strugglig, Ying felt a warm puff of air against her neck as Hancock sighed. “Look, I’m gonna let you go, but I want your word you ain’t gonna try anything.”

“Yeah.”

“Promise me, Ying.”

She tried to twist around so she could see him, but the ghoul wasn’t giving her any room to maneuver. Since she wasn’t so far gone that she would actually fight to be free, the only way she was getting loose was to give him what he wanted. Letting herself go limp, Ying leaned her head back against his chest and closed her eyes. “Fine, I promise. Happy now?”

“Not even close,” he muttered, but true to his word, he let her go.

Hancock was quiet for several long moments, the tension in the room creeping higher with every second that passed. Ying could feel his gaze on her, but couldn’t meet his eyes without seeing images of what floated in that damned jar, so she had none of the clues that might indicate what he was thinking. She wouldn’t apologize, not when the only link they had to Pickman had just walked out the door. The Watch might stop him from leaving Goodneighbor, but if they didn’t, if he managed to slip out of town, the next package Pickman left might be more than a substitute.

After what seemed an eternity, Hancock ran a hand over his face and let out another heavy sigh. “Daisy showed me what Pickman sent. That’s…. I get it, doll, I really do. That kind of thing would rattle anyone, but that courier didn’t deserve the shit you put him through.”

“He’s our only shot at finding Pickman,” Ying insisted stubbornly. “He’s working for him - he has to know something.”

Hancock shook his head. “Guy was ten seconds from pissin’ himself,” he scoffed. "If he wasn’t talkin’ it’s ‘cause he doesn’t have answers. Look, if I thought he had any part in that beyond landin’ a bad job, I’d be right behind you - you _know_ that - but I can’t back you on this. You got the wrong guy.”

If she was wrong, it meant Pickman had slipped through her fingers again and she was back at square one. There was nothing left to do but wait for the next time he felt like writing a letter, and now that he’d started including body parts, she couldn’t even go back to pretending everything was okay.

A couple quick taps on the outside wall drew their attention to the doorway where Fahrenheit poked her head in. “He’s waiting in your office.”

With a nod to his bodyguard, Hancock turned to Ying, his expression unreadable. “Fahr’s gonna stay with you while I sort this shit out.”

“Seriously?” Ying let out a bitter laugh and dropped her gaze to the floor so he wouldn’t see how much his statement hurt. It was easy to forget that in Goodneighbor, Hancock’s word was law. He’d never used that against her, but one look at Fahrenheit told her this was more than a friendly suggestion. “Is this your idea of house arrest, Hancock?”

“You might not have noticed, but Goodneighbor doesn’t really have a jail.”

“Yet I’ve suddenly got a jailer.”

“Damn it, Ying, it ain’t like that.”

“Then what is it?” she snapped,  sick of the argument, but unwilling to back down.

“Keepin’ a promise,” he said softly, and Ying nearly flinched at the pain in his eyes. “Told you after Sinjin I’d pull you back if you got too close. You’re slippin’, doll. You’re so desperate for something you can actually fight you’re goin’ after folks that ain’t done anyone wrong. I can’t be a part of that.”

Ying watched in stunned silence as Hancock left the room and Fahrenheit took up her post. She’d been so afraid of losing him that she’d been willing to risk anything to to keep that from happening. All she could think now was that she’d accomplished the very thing she’d feared.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standard warning for language and violence

Ying stalked the length of the hotel room like a caged cat, restless energy vibrating just beneath her skin. She tried counting the steps in an effort to distract herself, but any relief that gave her from the thoughts repeating in her head was lost at the constant reminder of her confinement. Eight steps, from window to door; less when her agitation got the better of her and she didn’t purposely slow her pace. She’d seen dogs on longer leashes.

Fahrenheit was propped against the wall, arms folded over her chest. Her expression was bland, but her eyes followed Ying’s every move. Even when her back was turned, Ying could feel her gaze on her, an itch right between her shoulder blades. It set her teeth on edge.

Dropping heavily onto the bed, Ying leaned back against the headboard, legs drawn up in front of her. She tapped her thumbs against her knees and returned Fahrenheit’s stare with a scowl. “Having fun?”

Fahrenheit snorted, arching a thin brow. “Playing babysitter for your stubborn ass? Hardly.”

Ying flashed a humorless grin, taking petty satisfaction in the knowledge that Fahr wasn’t enjoying this any more than she was. It wasn’t the bodyguard’s fault, but it was hard not to be bitter when she was the only obstacle standing between Ying and freedom. Better to focus on her resentment than the hollow ache of betrayal that flared whenever she thought about who’s orders Fahr was following. “Good.That makes two of us.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Fahrenheit asked, coming to stand in front of the bed. “You think this is some kind of punishment, but you should know by now that isn’t how Hancock works.”

“Do me a favor and spare us both the ‘for my own good’ bullshit,” Ying said with a roll of her eyes.

“It isn’t just your ass on the line, here. That shit you pulled with the courier put the boss in a bad spot. Think about it, Ying. You attacked a guest in Goodneighbor. Wanna know what happened the last time someone tried something like that? I’ll give you a hint: you were there.”

_Finn_.

There’d been a bit more to that particular situation, of course. Hancock had given him the chance to walk away but Finn was too stupid to back down. Still, Fahr had made her point, and Hancock mentioning the town’s lack of a jail was suddenly making a new kind of sense. Goodneighbor didn’t have one because it wasn’t necessary. People handled their own affairs, and if someone fucked up bad enough, the Watch dealt with it. Permanently. Having Fahrenheit as her shadow was grating, but it was probably better than the alternative, because she _had_ fucked up. It was just easier to wallow in hurt feelings than admit the truth.

The details were hazy, now that it was over. She knew she hadn’t actually _hurt_ Peter. Not really, but that wasn’t because of her stellar self control. How far would she have gone if Hancock hadn’t intervened?

Snippets from half a dozen scenarios flashed through her mind, each more violent than the last. Ying swallowed back a wave of nausea and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, unable to continue that line of thought. Her stomach twisted in horrified knots. If there was a limit, it lay deeper in her imagination than she could bear to delve.

Ying hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. As much as she loved skirting or even breaking the rules, she’d spent years putting boundaries in place, drawing lines she’d never dared to cross. Those self imposed restrictions had been sacred, and now, she’d lost sight of them.

There was no one event she could point to to determine when she’d started creeping past the brink. It had been a gradual slide, inches that were easy to justify rather than a single leap, but it all led to the same dark place. Most frightening of all was that, if given the chance, she didn’t know what she would change, or if she’d change anything at all. Her guilt over Peter stemmed more from his ignorance than his innocence, and the unintended consequences of her actions for Hancock.

“You said I put him in a bad spot,” Ying began, drawing a tremulous breath. “How bad?”

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Fahrenheit took a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She lit one and offered it to Ying before lighting another for herself. “Politics,” she said with a shrug. “Nothing that can’t be smoothed over. _This time_.”

Fahrenheit gave Ying a pointed look and lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Most people in Goodneighbor are loyal to Hancock, and believe me, he earned every bit of it. But Finn wasn’t the only one with complaints about how he runs things. There’s plenty that would use you getting away with something like this as proof that he’s gone soft. If you don’t get your shit together, you’re going to force him to choose, Ying. You or the town. One will kill him, one might just get him killed, but either way, he loses.”

Ying felt faint, numb. All she could do was nod at Fahrenheit, her worst fears laid out in front of her. It might have started with Pickman, but this mess was all on her. At the rate she was going, everything she held dear would go up in flames, and it wasn’t even Pickman holding the torch. She was doing all the work for him.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’d have done the same thing,” Fahr said as she tapped the ash from her cigarette. “I’d have been more discreet about it, but not even Hancock would have let that guy walk out of here without answering some questions.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Ying said dully. “He doesn’t know, and all that was for nothing.” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “You know, I really thought this was it, that he’d finally slipped up by sending someone.”

“Are you so sure he hasn’t? The courier might know more than he thinks. Asking the right questions can be just as important as _persuading_ someone to answer them.”

Ying arched a brow, and Fahr’s lips twitched in wry amusement. “I’m very good at my job.”

It wasn’t a boast, and Ying wasn’t inclined to argue, even if it had been. She’d seen enough to know the bodyguard was entitled to a little bragging, and more importantly, they had a common goal. It would have been better to go to Fahrenheit in the first place, but there was nothing she could do about that now. “Then you know that was a direct threat.”

“The Watch has been warned. No one’s getting anywhere near the Old State House. Of course, that doesn’t do much good unless you’re actually in town.” She studied Ying’s face for several moments, the cool blue of her eyes appraising. “Can you live like that?”

Ying twitched one shoulder into a half-hearted shrug. She’d been through this before when she married Nate. They’d had a house and a picket fence, a quiet life in Sanctuary Hills. Sure, the rest of the world was going to shit, but their little neighborhood stubbornly clung to the illusions of apple pie and baseball and summer barbecues. Ying had been safe there, the gossip of busybodies the only scrutiny she faced, but that safety came with a tether as tight as a noose.

Goodneighbor wasn’t the same, but the situation really wasn’t all that different. On any given day, there was no place she’d rather be, but that was with the understanding that she was free to come and go as she liked. Take that away, and it didn’t really matter where she was. All cages eventually lost their luster.

A knowing hum came from Fahrenheit. “I didn’t think so.”

“I could.” The argument was weak, even to her ears, but she stubbornly repeated,  “I could. If it meant no one else ending up in a fucking jar, I could.”

“But it doesn’t. You know that. He’ll keep finding ways to bleed you, little by little.”

“I’m aware,” Ying ground out, taking a long drag from her cigarette before viciously stubbing it out on the dresser. “If I wasn’t before, I sure as hell am now. Fuck, you act like I’m just sitting on this or something! If you’ve got suggestions, I’m all ears.”

“Stop chasing pieces around on the board. Make _him_ bleed for once.”

Ying barked a laugh at how absurdly simple Fahr made it seem. As if the thought had never occurred to her. As if she didn’t seethe with her want for revenge, the darkest corners of her mind overrun with images of just what she would do to Pickman once she finally found him.

She’d shied away from entertaining such fantasies in the beginning. That part of her was supposed to have died with the one that woke it. When this all started, just knowing those thoughts were there had been too much, but time hadn’t distanced them like she’d hoped. Instead, they’d only grown more violent and insistent, until she couldn’t have kept them locked away if she’d wanted to.

“You know, that never occurred to me,” Ying said with false pleasantry. “I thought I’d just stick with the turn-the-other-cheek philosophy because it’s going _so_ well.” She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Believe me, Fahr, making that fucker bleed would be a priority and a _pleasure_. But, if you’ll recall, I still have no idea where the fuck he is. Unless you know something I don’t?”

Fahrenheit’s bored expression never slipped through Ying’s sarcastic rant. Getting her worked up wasn’t the goal, but Fahr’s constant composure while she was hissing and spitting was starting to make Ying feel like an asshole. She wondered briefly what it took to get the bodyguard riled, but then decided she’d rather not know.

“You don’t need to have someone in front of you to hurt them,” Fahrenheit said. “Everyone has a weakness; find his. Figure out a way to turn it against him, or get used to playing by his rules.”

Shaking her head, Ying opened her mouth to argue, maybe snap something about her never offering real advice. She bit her tongue and took a deep breath instead. This sage tactician bullshit Fahr liked to project was wearing thin, but she really was good at her job. There had to be more to that than just her unhealthy obsession with chess.  

It was easy to talk about finding a weakness, but if Pickman had any, he hid them damn well. He was shit at actual fighting, from what she remembered that day in the sewer, but he made up for that with an infuriating ability to stay an entire fucking mile ahead of her.

Even if she were inclined, it wasn’t like she could turn his tactics of threatening someone he cared about against him. He’d been alone when Ying found him in the sewer, and judging by the sheer number of people that had joined forces in an effort to kill the bastard, he probably didn’t have many friends.

Ying let her head fall back against the headboard with an audible thump. “This is pointless, Fahr. As long as he keeps out of sight, the fucker may as well be invincible. The only thing he _might_ give a damn about is - is…” Ying looked at Fahrenheit with wide eyes, her mouth rounded in a silent “ _Oh_.”

If Pickman had anything resembling a heart, the way to strike at it was through his paintings.

She’d dismissed his idea of art once she’d learned his creative process involved human entrails, but that didn’t change the significance it held for him. Ying had assumed the paintings and sculptures were just gory relics of his kills that he used to keep trespassers from wandering too far inside. Maybe that was part of it, but it didn’t explain why he’d gone to the trouble of turning that old building into a gallery, why each painting was carefully mounted and labelled. No one put that much effort into caring for an object unless it had sentimental or monetary value attached.

“His art,” Ying said quietly, lips pursed in a troubled frown. “The only thing Pickman cares about is his art.”

“You don’t seem very happy about that,” Fahrenheit remarked, clearly puzzled. “You’ve been looking for a way to go after this guy for months.”

“Yeah….”

It had been right in front of her all along, she realized. She just hadn’t seen it because she hadn’t wanted to. Of course she’d known he was a painter, but that was just a surface detail. It wasn’t the same as acknowledging his work as art, or allowing herself to believe that his paintings might be more to him than just trophies of the people he butchered. Art and sentiment were both very human concepts - concepts that didn’t fit her assumption of an unfeeling monster.

Ying told herself it didn’t matter, and it didn’t. Not really. He was still a problem she had very intention of solving, but...it wasn’t quite so black and white anymore, and that narrowed the gulf that separated him from her by an uncomfortable amount.

Realizing that she hadn’t actually answered Fahrenheit, Ying shook her head. “You were right. I was so focused on the shit Pickman was doing I missed what was right in front of me all along.”

Hancock would have called bullshit as soon as she finished her sentence; Ying wasn’t going to wait and see if Fahrenheit shared her employer’s ability to see right through her. She climbed off the bed and collected her revolver, thankful no one had thought to pick it up when the door came down. Tucking the gun in her belt, Ying flashed a smirk towards the bodyguard and headed for the exit.

She’d taken three steps and was halfway through a fourth when Fahrenheit was off the bed and coming toward her. “Where are you going? Hancock told you to stay here.”

“Ah, no. That’s not actually what he said.” Ying grinned when Fahr narrowed her eyes and gleefully continued, “What he said was that you were going to stay with me while he figured this out. The onus of that particular order is on _you_.”

“You know what he meant,” Fahr said through clenched teeth.

Ying shrugged. “It might be open for debate, if things like courtrooms and due process were still around. But they aren’t, so I guess we’ll just have to take the mayor at his word.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“ _Immensely_.” Ying’s expression sobered as she held Fahrenheit’s gaze. “I’m going to the gallery. You can try to stop me, but you’ll need that -” she indicated Fahr’s gun with a pointed glance, “or you can drag your armored ass with me and we can argue if that’s really what Hancock intended later.”

Fahrenheit was quiet for a long time. She looked at her rifle and then back at Ying and sighed. “Fine. But you’re going to be the one to explain this to Hancock.”

“Sure,” Ying agreed quickly - too quickly, judging by the suspicion creeping into the bodyguard’s eyes. “Let’s go.”

Keeping her eyes down, Ying walked as fast as she could toward the gate. She didn’t know if word of the incident with the courier had spread, but having Fahr with her probably went a long way in quelling any prying if it had. No one was stupid enough to start shit with Hancock’s second.

Once outside of Goodneighbor, Ying let out a quiet breath of relief. One way or another, the games were about to end.

* * *

 

The gallery was much the same as Ying remembered it, though not quite as ripe as the last time she’d been through. The paintings remained where Pickman had left them, with no obvious signs that they’d been tampered with in any way. After a thorough check to be sure the building was empty, Ying walked the perimeter of the front room, attempting to determine if she and Hancock had been the last ones to set foot in the place.

She ran a finger along one wooden frame and examined the thin layer of dust. Lighter than what she would have expected after a few months, but still enough present to cast doubt on her suspicions that Pickman had never truly abandoned the place. It was impossible to say for sure, but she was already there. It was a chance for catharsis, if nothing else.

Ying yanked the canvas from the wall and tossed it to the center of the room. Then, she moved to the next and did the same. While she worked, Fahrenheit disappeared down the stairs. When she returned, Ying had all the paintings thrown into a pile. The bodyguard held out a metal container.

“I couldn’t find any booze, but this should work.”

A cautious sniff told Ying it held some kind of solvent. She gave Fahr a grin and accepted the can, splashing the contents over the stack. Setting the empty container aside, she took the knife Pickman had left with his first letter, studying her warped reflection a moment in the long, serrated blade before stabbing it through the canvas. If he did return to the gallery, Ying wanted there to be no question of who was responsible for the destruction of his work.

The paintings caught with a satisfying whoosh of flame as Ying tossed her open flip lighter onto the pile and wordlessly headed for the door. Part of her wanted to stay and watch the gory images bubble and run, but she still had preparations to make. Any consequences for her actions had to fall on _her_. Goodneighbor had been caught up in this shit for long enough.  

Hancock was waiting for them when they got back to town and he didn’t look happy about it. Without so much as a glance in Fahrenheit’s direction, the ghoul’s dark eyes settled on Ying, his mouth drawn into a frown. “You and me need to talk.”

Ying nodded but offered nothing further as Hancock spun on his heel and headed for the Old State House. She followed him up the spiral staircase, avoiding the curious eyes of the Watch standing guard inside. No one spoke; Ying wasn’t the only one picking up on the mayor’s black mood.

Inside Hancock’s office, she braced herself for the coming storm, thankful for the illusion of privacy. There were guards posted right outside - they were bound to pick up bits and pieces -  but at least Hancock had waited until they were behind closed doors. When he spoke, he was quieter than she’d expected, his words almost soft, though still gruff with displeasure.

“What the hell, Ying? Thought it was understood that I didn’t want you runnin’ off until this shit was sorted out.”

Ying shrugged in feigned nonchalance, but her crossed arms were rigid. “You didn’t really specify. Next time you want to lay down the law with me, you really ought to be less vague about what you expect.”

It wasn’t really fair of her to dig that point in, but it still stung that he’d expected her to just fall in line. Even if he had been justified.

“You plannin’ on a next time? Fuck, doll, I didn’t want there to be a first time!” Hancock turned away and braced a forearm against the wall as he gazed out the window, his other hand fisted at his side. “We’re supposed to be better than this shit. Never thought that was somethin’ that needed to be said.”

She’d warned him back when this all started that she _wasn’t_ better than that, but the disappointment so heavy in his voice hurt. He’d believed in her, enough that she began to believe in herself, and she’d let them both down.

Ying had to swallow a few times past the tightness in her throat before she could speak above a whisper. “I was wrong. I know that, and I’m sorry for putting you in that position. I’m sorry I went off on that guy like that, but if he actually would have known something? I probably would have done anything just to make it all stop.That scares me, John, but he’s everywhere! No matter where I go, I _can’t get away_ from this shit, and it’s not just me he’s threatening anymore. The lines disappear when you’re involved.”

Sinking onto the couch, Ying curled forward until her elbows were touching the tops of her thighs, her gaze locked on the floor. The cushions dipped and she jumped, jerking her head up to see Hancock sitting down beside her. She hadn’t seen him come over, and after everything that had happened, wasn’t certain how to react.

“You really think I don’t understand?” Hancock asked, incredulous. “The things I’d do for you…. Done a lot worse for less, doll, so I ain’t claimin’ to have clean hands here, but some shit you don’t come back from. You lose sight of who you are and that bastard’s already won. Bringin’ harm to innocents...that ain’t you.”

It was hard to share his conviction when she didn’t know _who_ she was anymore. She’d had some idea, once, but maybe that had been nothing more than a case of wishful thinking; seeing what she wanted instead of what was actually there. A few short months ago, and she would have been appalled at the very suggestion of her recent behavior.

“How...how is he? The cour-...Peter, I mean.”

Hancock shrugged. “Fine, aside from you scarin’ the shit out of the poor bastard. Didn’t have much to say at first, but the guy was more than happy to talk once I waved a few caps in front of ‘im.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Same thing I told you earlier, doll: it was just a job. He didn’t know anything about Pickman or what’s been goin’ on. Got a place he was supposed to meet, though, and pick up the second half of his pay.”

Ying was only listening with half an ear, too busy trying to stave off another wave of guilt, but that got her full attention. “Do you think we can follow him? I’m not going to give the guy any more trouble, Hancock,” she sighed at the ghoul’s answering frown. “He’ll never see me. But if Pickman might be there, I can’t just let this go.”

“I’m not sayin’ let it go, but the courier’s gone. I gave ‘im the caps they agreed on - and a little extra - and he left. Planned on tellin’ you, doll, but you weren’t exactly where I left you.”

Ying took a slow breath, ignoring a prickle of irritation. They weren’t going to get anywhere going over the same old arguments and she’d already explained herself as much as she was going to. “Did he tell you where, at least? If you already paid him, he has no reason to be there, but Pickman might still be waiting.”

“We can check it out,” Hancock nodded. “But I wouldn’t go gettin’ your hopes up.”

“Not ‘we’.” Ying shook her head, eyes never leaving the ghoul’s. “I’m going alone.”

“Like hell you are.”

Her fingers dug into her legs, just above her knees as Ying leveled a glare at Hancock. “I’m not asking for permission. I’m going whether you like it or not.”

“The problem ain’t with you goin’ doll, it’s with you goin’ alone. Why’s it gotta be just you all the sudden? You plannin’ to run?”

Ying’s eyes widened in shocked hurt. “No,” she whispered. “That’s not it at all. I’m coming back, John. I…” she put her head in her hands and sighed. “When I left earlier, I went to the gallery and...burned all the paintings. There’s a good chance Pickman is about to be _very_ upset with me. I’m kind of hoping for that actually, but it means I have to do this alone. I can’t let the repercussions of that blow back on anyone else.”

_I can’t let him use you against me._

Hancock sent her a look that was somewhere between horrified and grudgingly impressed. He muttered a curse beneath his breath as he rubbed a hand over his face. “And Fahr was on board with that?”

“No. At least, not without checking with you first. I told her she’d need her gun to stop me. For a second, she actually looked like she might be considering it,” Ying mused.

“Had that look from her a few times myself,” Hancock said as his thin lips tugged into a reluctant grin. “Makes her better at her job; guess she figures no one’s gettin’ to me before she does.”

The ghoul sobered as he studied her face. “You ain’t a prisoner here, love,” he said softly. “Never were. You wanna leave? I won’t stop you.” A hint of a grin crept back over his face, and Ying narrowed her eyes, her suspicion confirmed when he added, “‘Course, if you don’t want my help….”

“You’re not going to tell me where the meet is, are you?”

He didn’t answer, but his smug expression told her all she needed to know. “Damn it, John!”

Ying clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles cracked as she fought to control her frustrated anger. Some of it dissipated when she felt his hand on her cheek, but she still refused to look Hancock in the eye.

“I know why you wanna do this on your own. Believe me, doll, I do. It’s the same reason I don’t want you anywhere near that bastard by yourself.”

Relenting, Ying let her forehead fall against his chest, her arms coming to rest around his waist. “You’re just trying to get back at me for earlier,” she groused, trying to hide the quaver in her voice.

“Nah, that’s just a bonus,” he laughed into her hair. He pulled away to look at her, his brief lapse into humor failing to conceal the worry in his eyes. “If you’re stuck on this, there ain’t a whole lot I can do, but please, Ying, don’t go alone. I’m not sayin’ it’s gotta be me, but take Fahr or one of the boys.”

She should have known he wouldn’t play fair, but then, neither did she when it came down to it. There was no way she could say no - not after _that_ \- but if going alone was out, there was no one she trusted at her back more than him.

Fahr and the Watch were loyal to Hancock, she didn’t doubt that, but it wasn’t the same. Hancock _knew_ her. He could anticipate how she would react in the heat of a fight when communication wasn’t possible, the same way she could for him. They worked as a unit, knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses with an intimacy that could only come from months of necessity. Throwing a stranger into the mix was piling a whole new set of variables on top of an unknown. If there was ever a time that was bound to bite her in the ass, it was probably now.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Just...don’t get killed or anything, okay?”

“Same goes for you.”

* * *

 

Ying leaned out of a broken bus window and glanced toward the sun, frowning at how low it hung in the sky, and then returned her attention to the compound they were watching. Abandoned rail cars, a huge warehouse, and scattered crates and cranes left plenty of places to hide, but they’d been watching the yard since early morning. No one had come or gone.

“You’re sure this is the place?” she asked, ducking back inside the bus.

“Guy said the old rationing site. You know of any others?”

Ying flopped onto a bench and made a face. Two hundred years hadn’t made the seating on public transportation any more comfortable. “No. Not around here, at least. You were right, I guess. He’s not going to show.”

Hancock had warned her, but it was hard not to feel like the one chance to end this on her terms had slipped through her fingers, and that once again she’d misjudged Pickman. Clearing perceived debt had seemed important to him, and he’d been upset when she refused his gift. It might have been wishful thinking, but she’d really thought he’d hold to his end of an agreement.

“We can still check the place out,” Hancock suggested. “Don’t know if we’ll find anything useful, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Yeah. We’d better hurry, then; we’re losing daylight.”

They crept cautiously toward the yard, weapons at the ready, but after a few minutes it was obvious the site was deserted. Searching the train cars turned up nothing but steel crates, most of which had been picked clean long before Ying and Hancock arrived. The only door to the warehouse was barred, but peering in through gaps in the damaged walls showed that it, too, was empty.

A trailer that had served as an office before the war still had a working terminal. Ying tapped at the keys, while Hancock searched the shelves. There were only a few entries, all from before the bombs. She shut the machine off in disgust, feeling foolish for even looking. Had she been expecting Pickman to leave some kind of raincheck?

“There’s nothing here,” she sighed.

“Don’t know about that, love,” Hancock said, coming over to stand beside her. He dropped a cloth sack on the desk, and Ying’s eyes widened at the metallic clink it made as it hit. There were caps inside. A lot of them.

“Found it over there.” The ghoul waved toward a shelf littered with trash and added, “It wasn’t hidden, either.”

“So he _was_ here? Hancock, that’s not possible. We’ve been in that fucking bus all day!”

“Could have been yesterday. Hell, it could have been right after he set the job up.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter if Peter actually found it,” Ying murmured, thinking aloud. “As long as Pickman left the payment, he can say he kept his end of the deal.

Hancock nodded. “I don’t think he ever planned on being around for that meeting.”

“This was a waste of time,” Ying sighed. She slid the bag of caps toward Hancock and said, “You might as well take them, get back most of what you’re out.”

With a shrug, the ghoul stuffed the caps into one of the deep pockets on his coat. “If we’re done here, we need to figure out what we’re doin’ for the night.”

Ying looked outside to see that the sun had slipped beneath the horizon. It wasn’t full dark yet, but it wouldn’t be long. “I really don’t want to try dodging raider camps in the dark.”

“Diamond City’s just over there,” Hancock suggested doubtfully. “I don’t think Nick would mind us droppin’ in.”

Ying didn’t even consider the idea. “I’d rather just find somewhere to camp instead of pushing our luck. If I have to hear McDonough’s shit right now, I’ll shoot him in his fucking face.”

She winced as soon as the words left her mouth, but Hancock just laughed and shook his head. “Not with your aim, doll.”

They made camp in a burned out diner and Hancock offered to take first watch. Ying doubted she was going to sleep much, but laying down would give her a chance to stretch out muscles that were still stiff from being curled up in a bus all day. She must have been more tired than she thought. One moment, she was stretched out on her side, her head pillowed on her arm, and the next she was jerking awake.

Ying slowly sat up, and looked around, her heart beating wildly in her chest as she strained her eyes and ears for whatever had woke her. She didn’t remember dreaming, or any sudden noises that might have alerted her, but that did nothing to stop the unease prickling at the back of her neck or the spike of adrenaline surging through her veins. She looked around for Hancock to warn him that something was very wrong and her lurched into her throat when she discovered she was alone.

Fumbling in the dark for her knife, Ying let out a quiet breath when her fingers finally closed around the hilt. She held it close to her chest as she crept toward the door, trying to tell herself she was being ridiculous. Hancock had just stepped out for a piss or something; she was getting worked up over nothing. Ying eased the door open, but there was no sign of the ghoul outside.

“John?”  

There was no answer. She let the door fall shut and snatched her Pipboy and her pack from the floor. Straightening, she shrugged into the straps of her backpack and froze, spine going rigid as a few cheerful notes were hummed behind her. Bloodless lips parted in a soundless gasp as Ying’s stomach clenched in dread and her knife slipped from numb fingers. She’d heard the same idle tune once before, distorted with the static crackle of a holotape.

“I believe I have something of yours.”

His voice was just as smooth and oily as she remembered, and Ying shivered in revulsion as each enunciated syllable seemed to slide across her skin. Her palms were damp as she slowly turned around, her fingers twitching uselessly at her sides as the rapid thrum of her heart echoed in her ears.

The green light of her Pipboy washed the color from his eyes, but the ice was still there, sharp and glittering. He bared his teeth in a slow smile and cocked his head. “Shall I return it?”

Before Ying could answer, a flash caught her eye and he struck out with his arm, quick as a snake. All the air left her lungs in an explosive rush as she doubled over from what felt like a punch to her solar plexus. There wasn’t pain, exactly, only a sense of something hard and cold deep inside. A warm rush spread through her abdomen as she struggled to stand straight, growing in intensity until fire burned through her gut. She clapped her hands to her stomach, her knees buckling beneath her. The bottom half of her shirt was soaked in something warm and sticky, the thick tang of copper heavy in her nose and at the back of her throat.

Pickman crouched down in front of her, waving a blade in front of her face. It was the same blade she’d left at the gallery, only now it was stained with her own blood.

“I told you, I pay my debts.”

He rose to his full height and tossed the knife aside, stepping out of her line of sight. A low whimper built in her throat as Ying realized what he’d been blocking from her view. The last thing she saw before her vision went black was Hancock’s crumpled form sprawled out on the floor.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit shorter than normal because I ended up having to split it into two chapters. *But* the second part (what I'm hoping will be the last chapter) is almost done and should be up in a few days.
> 
> Warnings: implied torture, descriptions of blood and gore
> 
> **Pickman is in this chapter, so mind the tags. Most of them are there specifically for this chapter.

Something wet hit her face and traced a lazy path down the curve of her cheek. Ying flinched, trying to move away from the sensation, and the sudden tightening of her muscles sent streaks of fire through her abdomen. Her breath caught on a gasp as she tried to brace against the pain and discovered that she couldn’t move.

Ying’s eyes snapped open. Icy tendrils of confused panic coiled in her chest as she saw nothing but black. Cold metal bit at her wrists as she struggled to free herself, her efforts accompanied by a clanking rattle that was too harsh and loud in the thick silence. The denim of her jeans offered some protection against the friction, but the heavy weight around her ankles told Ying her legs were similarly bound.

Another drop landed on her face from somewhere above, and she squeezed her eyes shut again, her mouth falling open in what would have been a scream if her throat weren’t so dry.

_Can’t move…can’t move…Oh, god, no! Nonono…_

The burning in her abdomen was momentarily forgotten as Ying fought to escape. Liquid warmth flowed over her wrists, slicking her bonds and filling her nose with the scent of salt and iron. The chains held. Her heart drummed a painful tattoo against her ribs and beads of cold sweat formed on her brow as she sucked in short, shallow breaths that left her lips tingling and her head buzzing. Shadows gathered before her eyes, and it was only then that Ying realized she _could_ see, though the light was poor.

Several feet above her, stone gleamed wetly, lit by a dim yellow glow. Not the most reassuring sight, but at least she wasn’t blind, as she’d feared. Straining her eyes, Ying could make out the block pattern of brickwork. She focused on the lines of mortar, her gaze following them as far as she could see as she worked to slow her breathing. Gradually, the tingling left her lips and she was able to straighten her fingers from the rigid claws they’d drawn into.

Once she’d calmed, Ying turned her attention to taking in as much as she could of her surroundings.

She was on some kind of table, her hands stretched up and behind her head, chained to a large pipe that ran up the wall. There was just enough slack in her bonds to allow her wrists to rest flat, though she couldn’t straighten her arms. Her elbows were bent at awkward angles on either side of her head, but she supposed it could be worse; she still had feeling in her fingers.

The musty air was chill and damp, a faint draft raising goosebumps on her sweat-soaked skin. She could hear dripping water from several places around her, and the scrape of her chains echoed in her ears whenever she moved.

Dread settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach as she realized she was most likely trapped underground, helpless and alone.

Fragments of memories drifted through her mind. Some were of the vault, woken by fear and irrelevant to her current circumstance. Others were not so easy to dismiss.

The rationing station, and her desperate wish for an end. The taste of hope turned to bitter disappointment as she realized she’d been outplayed, yet again. The diner, and Pickman’s face awash in shadow and the electric green of her Pipboy. The hot, steady pulse of her blood pouring out of her. The knowledge that she would die on a filthy linoleum floor, and the guilt and fear that, because of her, Hancock would, too.

“John…”

The traces of light that managed to reach the ceiling flickered. At first, Ying thought it was a trick of her eyes, distortion from trying to see through the blur of tears, but the shadows that cloaked the chamber lengthened, their hazy edges sharpening as the light grew brighter. She turned her head toward the source and immediately regretted it when she looked directly into the spill of a lantern. To eyes accustomed to the dim, its soft glow was near blinding.

She didn’t need to see him; she could hear him just fine. His voice, amplified by the layers of brick and stone surrounding them, turned her blood to ice, just as it had when she heard it in the diner.

“As touching as your concern for the ghoul is,  I’d much rather talk about you, little muse.”

 

* * *

 

Hancock was aware he was drifting toward waking, and despite the insistent voice calling his name, he was utterly resistant to the idea. His head was pounding and felt like it had been stuffed with wads of cotton. There was a nasty metallic taste on his tongue and a faint ringing in his ears. The night before had been really good, or really bad, but either way, waking up meant dealing with what was promising to be one hell of a hangover.

Determined to delay the inevitable as long as possible, the ghoul wrapped an arm around Ying to draw her closer and burrowed against her warmth. She wiggled and whined, pulling away, and something didn’t seem quite right about that. For someone that liked sticking people with sharp objects, Ying could be surprisingly cuddly. She might not be big on initiating, but she’d never turned away his offers of affection.

He heard her heave an impatient sigh and then jumped at a sudden, sharp kick to the sole of his boot. That was definitely leaning more toward Sunshine’s style, but he couldn’t think of what he might have done to earn such a wake-up.

“What gives?” he groaned, rolling to his back.

Hancock cracked one ebon eye open in an irritated glare and blinked, perplexed, as he found himself face to face with Dogmeat. Behind the canine was Daisy, her mouth pinched in a frown. Wasn’t the first time she’d looked at him like that, but he’d never seen such stark fear in her eyes.

Something was very, very wrong.

“Daisy? What’re you doin’ out here?”

“Fahrenheit was gettin’ antsy,” was all Daisy offered. “What happened, John?”

He didn’t know if it was worry or accusation that sharpened her tone, but it set him on edge, especially when he found he couldn’t immediately answer.

What _did_ happen? He felt like he’d been on a three-day bender, but he hadn’t had anything stronger than a cigarette since leaving Goodneighbor. In fact, smoking was the last thing he had a clear memory of. He had a vague recollection of blood-stained clothes and a plea for help, but the images that followed were as hazy as fever dreams. Hancock slowly shook his head as he struggled to make sense of them.

“I don’t know. Went out for a smoke and someone was there. He was in pretty bad shape, but– his hands…”

“What about his hands?” Daisy prodded.

Hancock jerked his shoulders in an irritated shrug, asking himself the same question. Hands weren’t the sort of thing people tended to remember about one another, yet that was the only clear memory he had. He couldn’t recall the guy’s hair or eye color, the shape of his nose, or if he even had one, for that matter, but he could see his hands, plain as a picture.

He remembered ten fingers, like anyone else’s hands, and a grip that was surprisingly strong, considering all the blood on the guy’s clothes. His shirt had been soaked in it, near black beneath the dim moon, but his hands….his hands had shone white. Not a speck on them. Even the man’s fingernails, dug into Hancock’s sleeve, had been clean.

Seemed off, even then, but there hadn’t been time to put it together. The hand clutching at his sleeve had tightened around his wrist, the other nothing but a blur as something stung his neck, hard and quick, leaving the cloying odor of licorice and that cleaner shit Ying swore smelled like trees in its wake.

It all faded after that, fuzzy gray and buzzing sounds, the slow thump of his heart in his ears when it should have been racing because no matter how hard he tried to run, his legs would not obey. He’d never make it in time…. He _hadn’t_.

Prodded to his feet by a growing sense of urgency, Hancock ignored the churn of his stomach as the dull throbbing in his temples intensified. He grabbed the back of a booth for balance as the ugly checkered tile of the floor swam dizzyingly beneath him. When the vertigo eased, he glanced around the diner, feeling sick as he confirmed what he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge: Ying was nowhere to be found.

“Where is she?”

His voice sounded foreign to his ears; low and hoarse, like he’d swallowed broken glass. His stomach felt the same way, but he had to ask, even though he already knew the answer. Never before in his life had he wanted to be wrong so badly. Any alternative, even one in which she’d simply walked away, was preferable to the gut-wrenching truth: Pickman had finally made his move, and Hancock hadn’t done a thing to stop him.

“There’s something you need to see, Johnny.”

Daisy’s use of her old nickname for him was more telling than she probably realized.  It was her way of acknowledging that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say, and a subtle cue that he needed to shut up and listen anyway.  

Her clouded eyes were soft when he met her gaze, but her mouth was drawn in a firm line of resolve as she turned toward the front of the diner. She came to an abrupt stop near the door, but before Hancock could ask what he was supposed to be looking at, Daisy stepped aside, revealing a dark congealed puddle.

Ying’s Pipboy lay in the middle of the mess, its cracked screen smeared with streaks of red, still lit by the green glow of the built-in flashlight. Her knife rested a few inches away. The blade was clean, he noted, which meant all of that blood was likely Ying’s, and she had to be in bad shape - or worse- if that much of it was on the floor. It also meant she hadn’t had a chance to fight back.

Hancock swallowed hard against the bile that rose in his throat, backing away on shaking legs until he stumbled into the edge of the counter. Closing his eyes didn’t help; the scene was burned into his mind, and with it, the knowledge that this was _his_ doing.

He’d started this months ago when he sent her to the gallery, knowing there was a chance she might not come back. Whatever guilt he’d felt then had been tempered by need, and Ying fit who he was looking for perfectly. She could handle herself well enough, and if the shit going down at the gallery was as bad he thought, she had no ties to Goodneighbor that might bite him in the ass later if it all went belly up.

Of course it went bad, and in a big way, but by the time Hancock had figured out how wrong he’d been, Ying was more than an easy fix to Goodneighbor’s problems. His only consolation had been that at least he’d be there to help her finish the job.

Except he hadn’t been.

He’d begged her not to go by herself, and for what? He sure as hell hadn’t been any use to her; not when she needed him back at Goodneighbor, and not last night when Pickman finally decided to cut the shit and make good on his threats.

Christ he could’ve at least warned her. Yelled or something, so she had a chance before Pickman found her sleeping and defenseless.

Hancock tensed as Daisy laid a hand on his shoulder. He tried to shrug her off, in no mood for her sympathy, but she held on, gently turning him to face her.

“Fahrenheit told me a little of what’s been goin’ on, about what they did in the gallery. It’s him, isn’t it? Pickman? There’s no ransom note, and all her things are still here,” Daisy said, motioning toward a booth where Ying’s pack lay, its contents scattered across the ripped and stained cushion of the bench seat.

Hancock nodded and Daisy let out a heavy sigh, briefly closing her eyes. When she opened them again, her gaze was stony. Determined. “There’s no body, John. If he wanted her dead, he’d have just killed her.”

“‘Course he don’t want her dead,” Hancock snapped. “That ain’t his _style_ , you feel me? He’ll play with her first.”

The bright flare of anger in his chest flickered and turned cold as his thoughts filled with images of the gallery. He didn’t know what Pickman would do now that the game was done, but his overeager imagination had no trouble filling in the unwanted details.

Daisy paled, but didn’t back down. “Then there’s still time,” she insisted. “We can find her.”

Letting out a harsh laugh that ended on something closer to a sob, Hancock sank onto a stool, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “The best detective in the Commonwealth couldn’t find this asshole. Don’t think we haven’t tried.”

“He was alone then,” Daisy argued. “It’s slow goin’ when you’re draggin’ someone else with you, especially a place like the sewers.”

Judging by the state of the floor, Hancock doubted there was much dragging involved, but Daisy had a point. Sunshine wasn’t heavy, but from what he remembered of last night, Pickman wasn’t a big guy. Having to carry her might slow him down enough to give them the break they so desperately needed. He still had a headstart, but this time, it was mere hours instead of days. It was the best shot they’d ever had of picking up his trail.

“You said there wasn’t a ransom note,” Hancock said, sliding from the stool. “Find anything else?”

“No,” Daisy shook her head. “I didn’t exactly tear the place up lookin’, though. Folks wantin’ a ransom make it known. Why?”

“Look around. See if we can find somethin’ for Dogmeat to catch a scent. Not Ying’s,” Hancock added as Daisy’s gaze flicked back to the floor. “He already knows hers, and we need somethin’ that won’t get washed away in water.

“I remember smellin’ somethin’ on Pickman last night. Don’t know what it was, but it was strong. Give ‘im a whiff of that, and I think the pooch will have an easier time down there.”

Eyes alight with hope, Daisy nodded joined him in searching the diner. Hancock was both disappointed and relieved that Pickman hadn’t left one of his notes this time. Something the man had actually held was exactly what they needed, but on the other hand, Hancock wasn’t sure he could bear the taunts that were sure to come with it.

They found what they were after in a corner behind the counter. It’d been easy to miss because it had slid beneath the overhang of a cupboard, but a spray of blood droplets led them to search underneath. Another knife, similar to Ying’s and one Hancock recognized just as easily. Ying told him she’d left it at the gallery; there was only one person who could have brought it here. He already knew Pickman had her, but it was nice to know they weren’t wasting time running in circles.

Hancock called Dogmeat over and carefully took the knife by the long, serrated blade, recoiling in horror when he saw it was coated to the hilt in a thick layer of crusted blood. His hands were shaking so badly it was a wonder he didn’t drop the damn thing while he waited for the dog to finish sniffing at the handle.

Inside, Hancock seethed. Fury raced through his veins and pounded in his temples with every beat of his heart. Ying was his priority, but once she was safe, Pickman would pay for all he’d put her through. Once Hancock was satisfied he had, he’d take that knife and shove it through the bastard’s fucking eye.

After he found Ying.

_Hold on, doll. I’m comin’…._

* * *

 

He stood motionless in the shadows, the sharp angles of his cheekbones limned in the light of the lantern. His face was blank as he watched her, eyes cold and empty as glass. Ying clenched her jaw and stared back, concentrating on drawing one slow breath after another. If he meant to unnerve her, it was working, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of watching her squirm beneath his gaze.

After several long moments had passed, Ying couldn’t bear the silence any longer. There was only one question on her mind, and it was out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

“What did you do to him?”

The words echoed between them, sharp and shrill, but Pickman gave no indication he’d even heard them. Humming beneath his breath, he set the lantern on a trunk and turned, disappearing from view. Ying twisted against her chains, trying to lift her head enough to keep him in her sight, and hissed in pain when the motion pulled at her wound. She let her head fall back with a thump, gritting her teeth to hold in a low groan.

Somewhere to her right came the whine of a generator, and Ying closed her eyes as a single, hanging bulb flickered to life in the ceiling above. When she opened them again, Pickman was standing over her, head cocked in genuine puzzlement.

“Why do you care?”

“He had nothing to do with this,” she answered, fighting to keep her voice even.

Pickman shook his head, lips twitching into a faint smile. “Nothing? Now, we both know that’s not true. You’d have never come into my home, if not for him.”

“And your head would be decorating some raider outpost!” Ying spat back. “I should have let that problem take care of itself.”

Again he ignored her, his expression unchanged as he folded his hands behind his back. He gazed at the ceiling as though seeking inspiration before his eyes settle on her once more.

“Ghouls are remarkably resilient,” he began, the condescension in his tone reminding her of a hated professor back in law school. “Nowhere near as fragile as they look. The one I left for you lasted hours. Nearly a day, as I recall. Little did I know how useful that information would prove to be.”

Ying froze, sick with fear. “What did you do?” she whispered.

His reaction confused her. For the first time, Pickman’s expression faltered. It wasn’t until something like triumph lit the depths of his eyes that Ying realized she’d made a mistake.

“You care for him.”

A statement, not a question, but spoken in a way that made it seem more like a revelation.  

“Interesting. I don’t normally use ghouls as a medium, but perhaps I’ll make an exception for yours. He must be something truly special if he means so much to you.”

“I _will_ kill you,” Ying snarled, even as the full meaning of his words hit her. “You’ll die an inch at a time.”

Hancock was alive. There was no telling what kind of shape he was in, but for now, he was alive. Her relief was distant, subsumed by blind rage and seething hatred for the man in front of her.

Fresh blood seeped from the abrasions at her wrists as she strained at her chains. Ying wanted nothing more than to strike at him however she could, take her pound of flesh and more as payback for all he’d put her through. Any amount of pain was worth that.

Pickman laughed, the sound one of pure pleasure. “Do you still think we’re nothing alike?”

Ying clamped her mouth shut and he nodded to himself, appearing satisfied. Her silence was answer enough.

“You’re in no position to be making such threats, little muse, but I can’t say I’m not curious to see if you’d make good on them. You were nothing short of inspiring that day beneath the gallery.”

The more important question to Ying was would he make good on his, or was this just another way to toy with her? Of all the words she could use to describe Pickman, ‘stupid’ wasn’t one of them. He had to know that the second she was left to her own devices, she’d do everything in her power to escape. Unfortunately, ‘everything in her power’ didn’t amount to shit right now. The chains were too snug to wriggle out of, and even if she could manage to get one of her bobby pins, she hadn’t seen a lock anywhere in her limited reach.

Denial, disbelief - there had to be some way out -  and finally, a grim admission that settled like a bone-deep chill. There was nothing Ying could do. There was nothing to stop Pickman from going out and doing exactly what he said. She was utterly at his mercy, and that helplessness frightened her more than the man himself. It was the culmination of all her deepest fears, a nightmare become manifest.

If she couldn’t save herself, maybe she could keep anyone else from going down with her.

“This is between you and me. You have what you want.”

Her pulse quickened as Pickman went tense, his face flushed an angry red. “What I want?” he demanded, features twisting into an ugly scowl. His bark of laughter rang out in sharp contrast to the calm veneer she’d come to expect, each of his next words rising in both pitch and volume until he was as close to shouting as she’d ever heard him. “What I wanted was to continue my work in peace! You wouldn’t allow it. Your hands were stained with the blood of dozens, yet you claim I’m the monster? Hypocrite!”

“There’s a difference,” Ying protested. She’d rather do anything than revisit this tired argument, but if he was venting his building rage on her, it meant some innocent wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. “I killed out of necessity - it was them or me. You kill for pleasure.”

“I watched you, little muse, before you ever knew I was there. I saw your face. Can you truly say you didn’t enjoy it? That you felt nothing?”

The surge of adrenaline, the faint ache of muscles warmed by exertion, that dizzy little rush of power that came the moment she knew she’d won - Ying loved it all, every second. She loved the exhilaration that came with pitting her skills against another and knowing she was stronger. It was the same sense of determination and competitiveness that gave her victories in the courtroom, but in this world she had absolute freedom. There was nothing left of the old to hold her back.

She couldn’t say she felt nothing, when nothing made her feel more alive.

“It’s different,” Ying repeated weakly, angry at the waver in her voice. She channeled that anger, used it to burn away her fear and uncertainty. “You think you’re _special_ , Pickman? You think you’re an artist? You’re a butcher. Anyone can do what you do.”

She thought he was going to strike her. He never moved, but she knew the signals, all the little signs that gave away someone’s intent before they even made up their mind to follow through. A slight narrowing of the eyes, the flare of his nostrils, a near imperceptible quiver along his jaw as the muscles bunched beneath the skin. He certainly _wanted_ to hit her.

Her words left a mark, and the wound went deep. For a moment, the mask slipped, and she saw the man beneath. His rage, his fragility. _That_ was Pickman, and for perhaps the first time, she understood just how dangerous he was. She was playing with fire, and her own flames would go cold long before he ever burned himself out.

Just as suddenly, the man was gone. Pickman took a breath, and the mask fell back into place. He sent her a placid smile and dipped his head in the mockery of a bow. “We’ll see, little muse. We’ll see.”

He took a step back and calmly began to remove his jacket. Like the first time they met, he wore a suit, though this one was a light charcoal. Ying imagined the state of the first and had to choke back a near hysterical giggle.

Folding the jacket, he laid it over a crate, his eyes on her as he loosened the buttons at the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. “You were to be my masterpiece,” he said, his tone pleasant but eerily flat. My _magnum opus_.”

He turned away and pulled aside a heavy tarp to reveal a metal tray filled with various tools. Some looked like they’d been designed for a surgical nature; others appeared to be homemade, and seemed better suited as relics in a medieval torture museum. Ying swallowed hard, her palms growing damp as a dim roar began in her ears. Pickman paid her no mind as he began arranging the tools in some order known only to him.

“Some subjects have a fire, that special little _piece_ that others lack. I can capture it, for a time, but it always fades. But you, canvas would never do you justice, little muse. There are some things that a brush simply cannot replicate. You were to be living, breathing art.”

_He ain’t going to stop._

“I would guide you, mold you, shape you. My purest creation. Your fire would never fade.”

_Not ‘til you’re as empty as him._

“But you’ve gone and spoiled it.”

Ying flinched as Pickman ran his finger along her cheek, pulling away in revulsion as he leaned down to whisper into her ear, “You took something precious from me. You _owe_ me, little muse, and I intend to collect that debt.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major warnings in this chapter for implied torture, and psychological torture. I tried not to make it too graphic, but it was very difficult to write. Please mind the tags and read at your own risk.
> 
> Edit: I forgot to mention that this chapter and the next make some brief (very brief) references to another fic called Pieces. Also posted on AO3. You don't need to read it (it's rather dark), but if anyone is interested, it's Ying's prewar backstory

Hancock took just enough time to grab Ying’s Pipboy and scoop her things back into her pack. Extra supplies always came in handy, and he didn’t know what he was walking into. It didn’t seem like anything was missing until he noticed there were no stimpacks. A few months ago, he might have thought nothing of it, but ever since the accident with the mine, Ying had been adamant about keeping extra stims on hand. They’d been taken, then, and it only fueled his suspicions that Pickman wanted her alive.

 

Dogmeat paced and whined by the door. The second Hancock opened it, the canine took off like there was a deathclaw at his heels. Hancock moved to follow and then paused to give Daisy a questioning look. In his eagerness to find Ying, he’d nearly forgotten the other ghoul. 

 

She’d never shied from defending Goodneighbor during an attack, so he knew what Daisy was capable of, but still Hancock hesitated. He didn’t want to make assumptions, and he didn’t want to just leave her in the middle of the ruins. Before he could think of how to broach the topic, Daisy nudged him out the door. 

 

“Come on, then, get movin’,” she ordered, walking past. In one practiced motion, she checked the ammunition in her pistol and tucked the gun away in her jacket, pausing to send him a flat look over her shoulder. “And don’t give me any shit about keepin’ up. I was walkin’ the wastes when your great-granddaddy was still in diapers.”

 

His mouth curling into a slow grin, Hancock shook his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

“Good. Now, we’ll find Ying, make no mistake about that.Then, you’re goin’ to shove that shotgun so far up Pickman’s ass he pukes lead.”

 

“Gonna do more than that,” Hancock muttered darkly. 

 

“I’ll leave the details up to you. Just...bring her home, John. We have to bring her home.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Dogmeat led the ghouls through the ruins, sprinting ahead several times only to come bounding back with an impatient woof. As soon as they caught up, he was off again, nose to the ground. 

 

This close to Diamond City, there were guards patrolling the streets. Though the ghouls weren’t technically crossing their patrol route, it was still easier to wait until the men passed and continue on their way unseen. Any one of them was probably just looking for an excuse to put another ghoul down, and Hancock didn’t have time for a fight.  _ Ying  _ didn’t have time. 

 

They turned down an alleyway Dogmeat trotted ahead, disappearing from sight. Hancock sighed in impatience but continued after the canine, expecting him to double back. He didn’t.

 

The ghouls exchanged glances, hands ready at their weapons as they hurried after him. Proximity to Diamond City and its turrets and guards made this area fairly safe, but there was still the occasional mutant or raider willing to press their luck. 

 

Instead of the ambush they feared, they found only a deserted street, blocked by the dilapidated hulk of a utility truck. A short bark sounded from ahead and Dogmeat popped around from the side of the truck, his tail thumping a slow rhythm against the pavement. He waited until Hancock started towards the vehicle and then darted around the side again, settling back on his haunches in front of a steel blockade that framed an open manhole

 

“Nice work,” Hancock murmured. He gave the dog an affectionate pat and crouched down next to him, peering into the murk below. Dim red light spilled from further up the tunnel, but it did little more than give an impression of stone walls and a pitted dirt floor. They had the Pipboy if they needed more light, but Hancock was reluctant to use it unless it proved absolutely necessary. Whatever waited for them in the sewers would see them long before they saw it, and he wasn’t going to give Pickman the opportunity to take Ying and run. 

 

Daisy wore a troubled frown as she came up beside him, one hand absently stroking Dogmeat’s thick fur. “This is Fens Street.”

 

Hancock shrugged. “Yeah? That mean something to ya?”

 

“Not anymore, I suppose,” she said with a shake of her head. “A lot of folks went missin’ around here. I remember readin’ about it in the paper. Just seems odd, all things considered.” 

 

Before he could form a response to that, Daisy waved a hand toward the opening, effectively changing the subject. “You think he’s still got her down there? Or was he just passin’ through?”

 

“Only one way to find out. C’mon. We’re gonna get our girl back.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Her chains rattled as Ying shuddered. She held her breath as a scalpel traced fire along her ribs and belly, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip until blood dribbled from the corners of her mouth. The wounds throbbed, but she’d bite until there was nothing left before she gave Pickman the satisfaction of hearing her scream. Pointless defiance; no one held out forever, but it was all she had to fight against. Even if that battle was a lost cause and waged against no one but herself.

 

The bulb in the ceiling blurred, splitting into two, then three as black spots flickered in front of her eyes. They gathered and converged into a single mass, until the darkness threatened to overwhelm her. She welcomed the descent, no matter how temporary, but Pickman had other ideas. Ying gasped as a shower of icy droplets rained down on her, that single, startled breath enough to prompt her starved lungs to take over. Her vision cleared, and she found Pickman standing over her, watching in silent satisfaction as she coughed and spluttered.  

 

He set an empty bucket on the ground and shook his head, wagging a chiding finger. “None of that, little muse. We’re not finished.”

 

“Go fuck yourself.”

 

Pickman clucked his tongue in disapproval, but said nothing as he tugged the ruined sides of her shirt closed. Oddly respectful, considering he was the one that had sliced it open in the first place, but Ying was grateful all the same. Modesty wasn’t a concept she’d ever really understood; vulnerability was another matter. There wasn't much protection to be had in a flimsy scrap of cloth, but she’d take what she could get.

 

When he was satisfied that she was covered, Pickman took a seat in front of her. He would talk now, she knew, and try to get her to do the same. It was the pattern he’d set, frightening in how familiar it had become in so short a time. She never knew just when the switch would occur, but when it did, Pickman’s entire demeanor changed. He spoke to her in a way that could only be described as kind. Like she was an honored guest instead of his prisoner. 

 

Ying hated these little interludes more than any agony Pickman might inflict. They should have been a respite, a chance to catch her breath and prepare herself for the next round. There was relief, a dizzying amount, but it left her thoughts scattered and adrift. She found herself replying to his questions without thinking, her deepest secrets and fears welling up like blood from a cut. Deprived of her usual defenses, it was only a matter of time before they all spilled over.

 

She preferred the pain. It anchored her and getting through it gave her a goal to focus on. Nothing Pickman could do to her was worse than the awful disorientation that came when the punishment suddenly stopped and he was there to offer a sip of water or blot the sweat stinging her eyes. Ying’s anger and hate bled away in those moments, replaced by something she was loath to admit might be gratitude. 

 

Pickman wasted no time in getting started. Ying was still reeling from the jolt back to full consciousness when he leaned forward to pat her arm, his brow creased in concern. “I thought we’d take a break. You’re looking a bit pale.”

 

“Appreciate it,” Ying snorted, injecting as much venom as she could muster into the words to counter the small, traitorous part of her that meant every syllable. “But I’m fine.” 

 

She looked past him, away from his false sympathy, and let her gaze roam the room. Pickman hadn’t given her much opportunity to take in the layout of the area, but if she ever had the chance to find her way out of there, she needed to commit as much detail to memory as possible. Not that there was a lot she could see. 

 

Mildewed boxes and crates blocked much of her view, but Ying saw they were in some kind of side chamber that opened onto a larger hub.The angle of the walls made it difficult to determine what lay beyond, but she could make out a grated floor strewn with heaps of sodden trash and toppled mannequins. A stairway just outside the room’s only exit caught her attention, but the lowered ceiling made it impossible to determine where it led. 

 

“Do you like it?”

 

Caught off guard by the question, Ying followed Pickman’s gaze back to the stairs and was startled to find the rictus of a skull leering down at her. What she’d assumed to be another mannequin was actually the skeletal remains of a person, carefully posed and propped against the rails.

 

It could have been a trick of her vantage point, but the skeleton looked like it had been taken apart and reassembled by a demented child. The feet were where the hands should have been, the legs looked oddly stunted. And while she was by no means an expert in human anatomy, Ying was fairly certain the pelvis didn’t belong  _ there  _ unless the poor bastard had been missing quite a few of his ribs. 

 

“I was waiting for you to notice,” Pickman continued, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Tell me, what do you think?”

 

If he wanted to believe she was simply admiring the decorating scheme instead of searching for the quickest route of escape, Ying was happy to play along. 

 

“I think you’re getting sloppy,” she replied, affecting a tone of boredom.

 

Disappointment flashed over Pickman’s features, but he was quick to cover it with a smile. “Ah, you think that’s my work. No. I’m afraid I can’t claim credit for that piece, or any other down here. Those are the work of another artist. From your time, I believe. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

 

“You think I follow some kind of fan club for psychos?” Ying laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself. The  fucker that did that was just as sick as you, and if I would have known anything about him, I would have done everything I could to put a stop to that bullshit.”

 

His sigh was wistful. “That’s unfortunate. Crude as his methods might have been, he had true potential.”

 

Ying smirked, well aware she was about to poke a hornet’s nest and determined to find a stick in spite of it. If Pickman insisted on having a conversation, she would do her best to direct the topic. With a bit of luck, she might even be able to piss him off enough to drop this nonsense.

 

“Of course you think so,” she snorted. “You fingerpaint with entrails and act like you’re the next fucking da Vinci. It really doesn’t take much to impress you, does it?”

 

“I don’t know about that,” Pickman replied smoothly, refusing to take the bait. “You certainly caught my attention.” His smile turned smug as he folded his hands in his lap and continued, “I went to Fort Hagen. Some time after you were there, of course, but I saw what was left firsthand. A bit garish, but it was then that I knew - really  _ knew  _ \- that you were everything I’d imagined. We’re kindred, you and I.”

 

Inwardly, Ying groaned. There was no way to explain the state she’d left Kellogg in - even before retrieving the implant - without divulging details only a few trusted individuals were privy to. 

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“Oh? Let’s see, shall we?” Pickman narrowed his eyes and tapped a finger against his chin, seemingly lost in thought.  “I’d wager your grievance was personal. Yes, I think it would have to be, to warrant such a savage attack. A lover or child... or perhaps your pet ghoul? There’s only the one left now, you know. I can see why you’d be so protective after the other - ”

 

“Fuck. Off.” 

 

Blinking back tears, Ying turned as far away as she was able within her restraints. It was stupid of her to think she’d ever have the upper hand with him. With a couple sentences, Pickman managed to tear the scabs off several wounds that had yet to heal. It had taken her months to build the walls that locked that pain away, but mere words to bring them tumbling down. Ying wanted to howl at the unfairness of it, to claw the knowing look right out of his eyes.

 

A gentle hand stroked her hair and it took everything she had to keep from leaning into the touch and the comfort it offered. 

 

“If it seems like I’m judging, little muse, nothing could be further from the truth. On the contrary, I understand completely. You see, I also lost someone important to me. My mother died at the hands of raiders.”

 

“And now, you’re no better than the ones that killed her,” Ying scoffed, holding back a wince at the hypocrisy in her accusation. 

 

Was she any better than Kellogg? Sinjin? 

 

...Pickman?

 

The more she asked herself those questions, the closer she came to having to face the answer looming in front of her. It wasn’t the one she wanted, the one she’d tried so hard to believe. 

 

And if it wasn’t - if  _ she  _ wasn’t - did any of this really matter?

 

Pickman only echoed her thoughts when he asked, “Do you truly think yourself so different from me?”

 

“ _ I _ never tortured anyone,” Ying reminded him with a defiant glare. 

 

Inside, she was panicking as the world slowly dissolved into something she neither recognized, nor knew her place in.

 

_ There had to be a difference.  _

 

Right and wrong. Black and white, up and down, east and west. Concepts with a clear line dividing them. One, or the other. 

 

She’d known the line was blurring - it had been for some time - but now it was gone. Vanished, and Ying had no idea which side that left her standing on. Or what side she’d been on all along.

 

“You haven’t had the chance,” Pickman corrected. “If it were me on that table right now instead of you, your vengeance would be magnificent.”

 

Ying had to admit that one; it was hard to deny when she’d already told him as much. She might not have described it in such grandiose terms, but ‘you’ll die an inch at a time’ painted a pretty clear picture. There was really nothing she could say to rebut that, and they both knew it.

 

Pickman got to his feet, and Ying stilled, her pulse racing in terror. If he was done talking, it could only mean one thing.  

 

“As much as I regret that it’s come to this, I think it’s time picked up here we left off, hmm?”

 

“What do you know about regret?” Ying cried. 

 

She’d thought she’d wanted this; pushed for it with all of her goading, but now that the time was at hand she was desperate to stall him in any way she could. “I bet you’ve never regretted anything in your life!”

 

Dipping his head in acknowledgment, Pickman huffed a laugh. “True. I can’t even imagine such a useless sentiment. What about you, little muse? Do you feel regret for the man you killed at Hagen? If given the freedom to act on your impulses, would you regret any of the horrors you might visit on me?”

 

Without hesitation, Ying shook her head. “No.”

 

“I didn’t think so.”

 

There was no time to explain or add context. As far as Pickman was concerned, she’d damned herself and vindicated him with a single word. 

 

Maybe she had.

 

Once more, Ying’s world shattered in a blinding burst of pain.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  


Ignoring the pang of guilt that always came from dealing with ferals, Hancock pulled his knife from the misshapen corpse at his feet and shook the gore from the blade. There weren’t as many as he’d expected, but then again, he and Daisy weren’t the first ones down here. From the shit he’d seen so far, Pickman hadn’t been, either. 

 

Daisy hadn’t said much, but Hancock suspected she now had a better idea of where all those missing people went. Even two hundred years ago, there’d been assholes out to bring good folks harm. Some things never changed.

 

A low whine from Dogmeat shook Hancock out of his musing, and he cursed when he saw the source of the dog’s distress. The tunnel they’d been following came to an abrupt end. Someone had removed enough bricks from the adjacent wall to create a side passage, but it opened into a cavernous chamber flooded by a full twelve inches of stagnant water. From where he stood, Hancock counted at least three different exits, any one of which might lead to Ying.

 

With a sigh, Hancock leaned against a column, drumming his fingers against the concrete in impatience as he waited for Dogmeat to get his bearings. They’d been through this before, usually with Hancock just barely stopping himself from taking out his mounting frustration on the nearest hard surface. So far, Dogmeat hadn’t let him down yet, though how he always managed to pick up the scent again was anyone’s guess. The whole fuckin’ place reeked worse than a 'lurk nest.

 

“We have to be gettin’ close,” said Daisy. 

 

“Here’s hopin’,” Hancock muttered. 

 

As much as he appreciated the effort, it was hard to share Daisy’s optimism. Between the delays and dead ends they’d run into, it was starting to feel like they were walking in circles. If he hadn’t witnessed Dogmeat’s tracking abilities during the hunt for Kellogg, Hancock would have thought the dog was just as lost as they were.

  
  


Daisy took a few steps towards him and then stopped, eying a particularly nasty bit of detritus floating in the water. Another feral, Hancock thought, until it bobbed past and he realized his error. Part of one, and from the looks of it, it’d been there a while. At least he could be sure they hadn’t crossed back the way they’d come. They’d done that a few times, too. 

 

Hancock couldn’t tell if their poor luck was just the dog getting confused, or if Pickman had doubled back on purpose in an effort to throw off anyone that might follow. Either way, he blamed Pickman and with the mood he was in, he’d happily cut the fucker’s throat just for that.

 

“We’ll find her,” Daisy tried again.

 

Nodding, Hancock replied tersely, “Bastard’ll make sure of it. The problem is findin’ her  _ before  _ she ends up part of the interior design.” He waved a hand toward a skeleton that floated face down between two pipes that ran from floor to ceiling. Still buried in the back of the skull was the clawed end of a hammer. “The shit we’ve seen down here is nothin’ compared to what that asshole had in that gallery of his. He doesn’t just kill people, Daisy! He cuts ‘em up and plays with the pieces.”

 

“I’m well aware,” Daisy shot back, eyes narrowed in a glare. “I may not have seen it firsthand, but there’s not a soul in Goodneighbor that doesn’t have some idea of what was goin’ on at that place. Now get your shit together so we can put a stop to it. You’re no good to anyone like this, least of all Ying.”

 

“Daisy…”

 

It was an apology and a plea, heavy with all the guilt, rage, and fear that seemed to simmer just beneath his skin. Hancock knew he was being an asshole, knew Daisy didn’t deserve to have any of that thrown at her. Later, when he could trust himself to speak without all the other shit boiling over, he’d give her a proper apology.

 

Shaking her head, Daisy gave his arm a pat and met his eyes with a watery smile. “I know, honey. I know. Come on. Looks like the dog’s got somethin’.”

 

Dogmeat led them through another narrow tunnel that looked much like the others. As frustrating as the canine’s limits were, Hancock knew they would have had no chance without him. He’d probably starve down there before he ever found a way out, let alone Ying. 

 

The tunnel widened again, this area not only flooded, thanks to two large drains on the back wall, but also what Hancock was sure was another dead end until Dogmeat found a series of ramps and walkways that led over the wall and to another set of stairs. They’d just made it to the top when Dogmeat froze, eyes fixed on some point only he could see. His ears pricked and then flattened as a growl began deep in his chest. 

 

Hancock shrugged at Daisy’s puzzled expression, but neither made a sound. Then, from further up the corridor, they heard it: the distant clang of metal striking metal, followed by what could only be a choked cry of pain. 

 

_ Ying _ .

 

Feeling like the ground had dropped out from under him, Hancock broke into a sprint. He heard Daisy call after him, but kept going. There was no stopping now; he couldn’t even if he’d tried, not when she was so close. Not when his mind was racing with all the things that bastard could have done to pull that kind of sound from her. 

 

He couldn’t fail this time, couldn’t let her down. He’d find her because there was simply no other option.

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  


Ying was tired. Mind, body and soul, a weariness that suffused her very cells. She was also hungry and cold, but those were minor discomforts in comparison to her exhaustion. Her arms ached and her head hurt. Her throat felt like she’d gargled acid, and still, all she wanted was to sleep. The chains didn’t matter. Neither did her wet clothes or the sluggish bleeding from the split in her lip. She’d earned that the last time she nodded off, and wasn’t that just bullshit.

 

All her effort, all her defiance and poking, and it'd been something beyond her control that finally set him off. There was one small comfort, though: she’d been right all along. Pickman didn’t like being ignored. That didn’t mean a damn thing in her current state, but it was still nice to know she’d been right about  _ something _ . 

 

Pickman dropped an instrument back onto the tray and Ying flinched at the sound. She heard the tap-scuff-tap of his shoes across the floor and then silence. When her eyes fluttered open, Pickman ran a finger along one of the scars that slashed each cheek, tracing a jagged line from the corner of her mouth to the curve of her jaw. 

 

“Tell me about these. How did you get them?”

 

Ying jerked her head aside, away from the feathery touch, but her eyes never left his. “No. That’s not yours to know. It never will be.”

 

Only one person alive knew that story, and while she’d never actually planned on letting it pass her lips, she knew it was safe with him. That had been catharsis; this was for Pickman’s own amusement. She’d rather die than give him that part of herself. 

 

To her surprise, his only response was a conciliatory nod. “As you wish. What of the one who gave them to you? May I ask what became of him?”

 

“Dead.”

 

Dead and buried, his bones dust by now. She’d won that battle more than two hundred years ago. Sometimes, she still had to remind herself. Not as often, now that someone else knew, but sometimes. 

 

Pickman beamed, an oddly boyish smile that brought out a dimple on his left cheek and still never seemed to quite touch his eyes. “I expected nothing less.”

 

“I never said I killed him.”

 

“No,” Pickman agreed. He turned to wet a cloth and began to dab gently at her lip. “But you did.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Did it help? Did it quiet the rage?”

 

His voice was soft and even as he moved the cloth over her heated face. It felt good, better than she could have imagined, and she sighed at the simple pleasure of it. Her answer came without thought, in a drowsy murmur. “For a time.”

 

“And then?”

 

It was a struggle to find the words to properly explain, and for a moment, she feared Pickman would take her hesitance as a refusal. Instead, he waited patiently, the cloth never ceasing its slow glide over her skin. He moved up her arms and to her wrists, swabbing at the dried blood caked beneath the chains. 

 

“Then there was nothing. Years went into killing him, and then it was over. Nothing left. I felt…I felt-”

 

“Empty?”

 

Stunned, Ying nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

 

“And if you got your wish? if you killed me, would it help?”

 

Ying turned her head so he couldn’t see the tear that leaked from beneath her lashes. “For a time.”

 

“A temporary reprieve.” Setting the cloth aside, Pickman ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead. “That’s all there is for people like us.”

 

Once, he would have been right. That was all she had, because she’d allowed herself nothing more. The emptiness was safe, it was numb. Nothing could touch her there. Far better to sacrifice some abstract concept like happiness than to reach for it and have her hand slapped. 

 

Her broken relationship with Nate, the distance from her colleagues, from her own infant son...all of that had been an effort to keep herself safe. Every argument, every angry word and failure to remain numb had only reinforced those defenses. 

 

The vault had changed everything. Waking up in a world and time that were not her own had forced her to let people in. She lacked the means to survive on her own and had to rely on others to show her the way. It hadn’t been easy, but gradually that emptiness became filled with little moments of peace. 

 

Daisy’s affectionate smile when she talked about her husband, drinking and talking politics with Hancock, the light that entered Fahrenheit's eyes when she knew she was about to beat Ying in a game of chess, and Kent’s infectious excitement when he’d reminisced about the Silver Shroud. 

 

It wasn’t that she’d suddenly discovered what it meant to be happy, but that their moments of joy slowly became hers. They’d shared them without hesitation, without expectation, and somewhere along the way, the fear of getting her hand slapped became an acceptable risk. 

 

“No. That’s not all there is. Not for me.”

 

“Why do you fight it?” Pickman sighed. “Why do you resist the truth?”

 

With a certainty she hadn’t felt since before the gallery, Ying met his eyes and said, ”Because you’re wrong. There’s passion and hope and love, and sometimes there’s sorrow, guilt, pain and anger, even hatred -”

 

She broke off, startled, as realization dawned. “That’s what you’re looking for. The piece you were talking about...You really _are_ empty. You’re trying to capture something you don’t even understand.”

 

Slamming his hand on the table, Pickman grabbed her by the arm, wrenching her toward him to hiss, “That’s not how this game is played, little muse.”

 

“You’re the only one playing a game, Pickman. That’s all it is to you, isn’t it? You don’t even hate me. Not really. It’s just about winning.”

 

“I  _ know  _ you, in a way no one else will. Isn’t that better than hate?”

 

“You don’t know me,” Ying said slowly. “You can’t. I’m not even sure  _ I  _ know me.”

 

“Perhaps,” Pickman allowed. “But I’m the closest you’ll ever come. You think the people you cling to could ever know? You think your ghoul would ever truly understand the things you told me?”

 

Maybe, maybe not. At this point, Ying honestly couldn’t say, but the idea that Hancock might not completely understand her didn’t bother her the way it used to. “Even if he doesn’t, I finally do. That’s all that matters.”

 

Pushing away from the table, Pickman began pacing, his fingers beating a furious rhythm against his thigh. Ying knew at any moment, that agitation could be turned on her. Her heart sped in awful anticipation when Pickman spun to face her, but instead of the wrath she feared, his expression was one of confused concentration. 

 

Somewhere outside her narrow world of metal and stone, a dog barked, and Ying wondered if she was hallucinating. It came again, and with it, a flood of recognition. She knew that sound, just as she knew the voice that was calling her name. Tears burned her eyes as her lips parted in awed disbelief. 

 

“ _ John _ .”

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

Ying and Pickman stared at one another in stunned silence as the sounds of Hancock and Dogmeat drew closer and closer. Pickman was the first to break the spell, looking away as he rummaged through the mess of boxes. He returned with a ten millimeter in his hand, and a finger pressed to his lips in a signal for quiet. Ying blinked back in bewilderment, aware of the danger, but overwhelmed by the single thought repeating in her mind.

 

He came for her. 

 

In that moment, Ying realized she’d never truly believed he - or anyone - would. No one had to tell her, it was just one of those things she’d always known. She had to save herself; no one else was going to. If she couldn’t, that was on her. It was better that way, for everyone. The last person to try - the only person - was dead because of it.  

 

She couldn’t let that happen again.

 

Locking eyes with Pickman, Ying gave a slow shake of her head. “You should run.” Then, she drew a deliberate breath and screamed, “He has a gun! John! He has a gun!”

 

Loath as she was to give Pickman the chance to escape, she had to. Her brief study of the room earlier had shown her that there was no other way out. If Hancock found them now, Pickman would be trapped like a rat, and Ying knew from personal experience a person was never more deadly or unpredictable than when they were backed into a corner. He could still kill her, but at least now, Hancock wouldn’t be walking into an ambush. 

 

Pickman wavered, his eyes shifting from her to the exit and back again. 

 

_ “Ying? Ying! Where are you, doll?” _

 

“The clock’s ticking,” Ying reminded. “Do you really want a fight? Maybe you’ll win...maybe you won’t.”

 

Pickman’s eyes narrowed in a reproachful glare, but it didn’t hide the nervous clench of his jaw, or the way he kept shooting anxious glances over his shoulder. The odds were too uncertain for one who craved absolute control. 

 

“See you around, little muse. We can pick up right where we left off.” 

 

With that, he turned and fled, leaving Ying chilled by his parting words. Her heart sank as she heard Dogmeat snarl and let loose a clamor of furious barking, followed by a surprised shout from Hancock. Despite her efforts, Pickman might have caught him off guard after all. She held her breath and listened, expecting the report of gunfire, but it never came. 

 

Dogmeat was still having a fit, but the sound was growing distant, as though he was moving farther away. Before Ying could try to puzzle out what was going on, the wizened face of a ghoul peeked into the room. Not Hancock, as she’d been expecting, but just as welcome. 

 

“Daisy?” Ying twisted against the chains for a better look, unsure of what she was actually seeing. “How...Where’s Hancock?”

 

Daisy hurried over, hands raised in a gesture of calm. “Shhh...he’s comin’. Don’t you worry about....” The ghoul slowed, her eyes going wide as she tried to stifle a horrified gasp with her hand. “Oh, Ying.”

 

Wondering what had the ghoul so upset, Ying glanced down and saw her shirt had fallen open while she struggled against her restraints. Not all the way, but enough for Daisy to get a glimpse at what lay beneath. Ying hadn’t gotten a good look herself just yet, but she could imagine the mess of cuts, burns, and bruises that covered her chest and abdomen. 

 

Ying opened her mouth to assure her it looked worse than it was and froze as she saw Hancock standing in the doorway, one arm braced against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up. 

 

Any semblance of calm was shattered. She had to make him see. 

 

“John, listen to me! You can’t let him get away! He’ll come back. He said he’d come back!”

 

“Ying…I can’t just -”

 

“Go,” Daisy interrupted, laying a hand over Ying’s thrashing legs to still her. “I’ll stay with her. You find that son of a bitch and you  _ gut  _ him.”

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
  


His boots thudded against the packed dirt as Hancock chased after Dogmeat. It was impossible to keep pace with the canine, but he didn’t call him back. If he couldn’t keep up with the dog, then Pickman couldn’t outrun him and Hancock wanted Dogmeat hot on the bastard’s heels. He only hoped there was something left of him by the time he caught up with them. 

 

The image of Ying, bruised and battered, haunted him.

 

Leaving her chained like an animal had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. Finding her like that, actually seeing what the bastard had done to her made it a little easier. She was safe, just like he’d promised himself. Daisy would make sure of that. Now it was time for the second half of his promise. 

 

A pained shout floated down the tunnel, and Hancock grinned. It faded when a shot rang out, but he heard no answering yelp from Dogmeat, so Hancock opted for cautious optimism.

 

_ C’mon, pooch. Don’t make me tell her you’re not comin’ back. _

 

As he came around a bend, Hancock breathed a sigh of relief. Dogmeat crouched up ahead, ears flat and lips curled back in a snarl. A few feet away was Pickman. He was on his knees, one bleeding hand clutched to his chest. A pistol lay in the dirt between them. Pickman tried to grab for it when he saw Hancock approach, but Dogmeat’s lunge had him pressing back against the wall.

 

“That’s right, asshole,” Hancock smirked, reaching for his knife. “Not so fun when you’re the one bein’ hunted, is it?

 

Gripping the wall with his good hand, Pickman slowly got to his feet and gave a rueful chuckle. “I’ll admit, my plans seem to have gone slightly awry. It’s nice to see you again, by the way. You’re looking rather well-rested.”

 

“Can’t say the same for you,” Hancock ground out between clenched teeth. “Lookin’ a little worse for wear, Pickman.”

 

“As they say, appearances can be deceiving.”

 

Pickman darted toward the gun again, but drew back at the last second to meet Dogmeat’s charge with a kick to the chin. Dogmeat yelped and shook his head, giving Pickman time to snatch the pistol from the ground. Pointing it in the ghoul’s direction, he took a few steps back. “I won’t hesitate to kill you,” he warned. 

 

After a cursory glance to see that Dogmeat wasn’t seriously injured, Hancock advanced, knife in hand. “You gonna stand there and talk, or pull the fuckin’ trigger?”

 

His only warning was a shift in Pickman’s posture; a slight squaring of the shoulders. Not much, as far as tells go. If he hadn’t been watching, he’d have missed it, but it was enough. Hancock pivoted towards the wall, grunting as the gun went off and a bullet ripped through the outer muscle of his left shoulder. Touching the ragged edges of a two-inch tear in his coat, the ghoul examined the smear of blood on his fingers and grinned. Grazed. Probably going to need stitches later, but just a graze. 

 

“Gonna need to do better than that, ya bastard!

 

Pickman fired again, turning to run when the shot went wide. Hancock didn’t bother to follow. Cocking his wrist, he flung his knife, smirking when the blade buried itself in the back of Pickman’s thigh. He went sprawling face down, the impact with the ground knocking the pistol from his hand. Raising himself up on his hands, Pickman cast a furtive glance behind him and started crawling toward his gun. 

 

With a veneer of calm, Hancock came up alongside the other man and delivered a vicious kick to his ribs. He added another for good measure, feigning a sympathetic wince when the bones gave with a wet crunch.“That sounded like it hurt,” the ghoul remarked, leaning down to take the pistol. In one deft motion, he removed the clip, dropping it into a pocket and tossing the empty gun aside. “I  _ really  _ hope it did.”

 

Blood flecked his lips as Pickman coughed and let out a choked groan. “I have no quarrel with you.”

 

Grabbing him by a fistful of his hair, Hancock jerked his head up until their faces were inches apart. “That’s where you’re wrong. The way I see it, this shit started with you and me.” He dragged Pickman to his feet and slammed his face into the nearest wall. He went limp, blood spurting from his nose. Hancock released the other man’s hair, letting him fall to the ground in a dazed heap. He jerked his knife free with a sharp twist of his wrist. “And now we’re gonna finish it.” 

 

Pickman’s agonized moan only fueled the ghoul’s rage. “Fuckin’ coward! This is nothin’ compared to the shit you did to her!”

 

Wrapping an arm around his abused ribs, Pickman struggled to prop himself into a sitting position. He tipped his head back against the wall and dabbed at his nose, eyeing his bloodstained fingertips before wiping them on his pants with a grimace of distaste. Panting, he shook his head with an incredulous laugh.  “What  _ I  _ did to  _ her _ ? All I did was take what’s owed to me - what’s mine by rights.”

 

Without conscious thought, Hancock lashed out, his fist crashing into Pickman’s mouth. “Ying’s not yours, asshole! Never was!”

 

Flashing a gory grin, Pickman met Hancock’s gaze with bloodshot eyes. “Does it comfort you to think so? You can kill me right here, and I’ll never really be gone. Not for her. My little muse wears my signature, whether you can see it or not.”

 

Rational thought ceased. Time slowed; his vision narrowed and blurred. All Hancock could see was the man in front of him; all he cared about was shutting him up. Carried by a roiling wave of hatred, the ghoul drew back and punched him. His fury unabated, he continued his assault, raining down a flurry of blows without regard for where they landed. Punches, jabs, kicks - as long as he was connecting with flesh and bone, he didn’t care, and he didn’t stop until he was trembling with exhaustion. 

 

Hancock collapsed, falling to his hands and knees as he fought to catch his breath. Pickman wasn’t moving. He sure as hell wasn’t talking anymore, either, so the ghoul counted that as a win. Feeling blindly in the dirt, Hancock located his knife and sat back on his heels, grasping Pickman by the hair. It didn’t look like the bastard was going to be walking away from that, but he had to be sure. Yanking his head back, Hancock dragged his knife across Pickman’s throat, slow and deliberate. He wiped the blade against Pickman’s shirt to clean it and climbed to his feet. 

 

“Is he dead?”

 

Startled, Hancock turned around to see Ying, her dark eyes fixed on Pickman. She was wearing Daisy’s jacket now, he saw, and leaning against the other woman, who had her arm wrapped around Ying’s waist. Dogmeat was at her other side, and Hancock suspected they were the only reason she was standing at all. 

 

“Is he dead?” she repeated, taking a shaky step forward. 

 

Hancock went to meet her, but she held up a hand to stop him from coming any closer. 

 

“Yeah, love. He’s dead.”

 

“I have to see,” Ying whispered, walking past him. “Make sure....”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Hancock stuck close behind her, not trusting her unsteady gait, but otherwise made no move to stop her. He’d give her the bastard's fucking head if that was what she needed.

 

Ying crouched down next to Pickman’s corpse, her expression blank. Hancock nudged the man’s head back with his boot to show her the laceration. The cut was bloodless, he noted absently. Pickman was already dead when he’d cut his throat.  

 

“He ain’t comin’ back. Not this time.”

 

_ He’ll never hurt you again.  _

 

She nodded, but didn’t say anything, her fingers busy twisting the hem of her jacket. Hancock exchanged a worried look with Daisy. He was at a loss, Pickman’s last words echoing through his mind. As much as he hated to admit it, they had the ring of truth. There was nothing else he could do. Pickman was dead, but Hancock honestly didn’t know if it would ever be over for Ying. 

 

Ignoring his own exhaustion, he sank down beside her, determined to wait however long she needed. Ying didn’t seem to notice at first, but after a few minutes, she turned to face him, looking so lost it broke his heart. 

 

“He’s really gone.”

 

“He’s really gone,” Hancock confirmed. He ached to take her in his arms but didn’t know if she would welcome his touch. 

 

Ying solved that problem for him by flinging her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest. Her whispers were muffled, but Hancock still heard every word. 

 

“He’s dead....it’s over. He’s dead….”

 

All he could do was stroke her hair and reaffirm what she’d already said. “It’s over, love. He’s dead.”

 

It started as a fine tremor in her hands as she clutched the lapels of his coat. Soon, she was shaking all over. Her breath hitched and her shoulders jerked as the first sob broke loose. 

 

With his brow pressed against the top of Ying’s head, Hancock held her and let her cry, whispering into her hair, “It’s over... he’s dead.”

 

 

* * *

 

_Epilogue - 2 weeks later_   
  
  
  


Ying sat cross-legged, her back propped against the rail of the Old State House balcony. Below, the people of Goodneighbor went about their daily lives. She couldn’t see them, but she could hear. Laughter between members of the Watch, an argument between Kleo and some drifter as he haggled for a better price. Somewhere in the distance, a child whined. 

 

A part of her longed to be down there with them, but she didn’t trust herself yet. Not when she still saw Pickman’s face everytime she closed her eyes. 

 

Gazing down at the knife she held in her lap, Ying ran her thumb against the dull edge of the serrated blade. She had everything she could have hoped for: he was gone and no one else had been hurt. It should have been enough to lay his ghost to rest, but it wasn’t. His specter haunted her. 

 

Talking with him had been a revelation. But now, she waffled between certainty and doubt. He’d been wrong about a lot of things, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t also right about others. The problem was figuring out where to draw the line.

 

Except...she was trying not to do that anymore. No more lines. No more trying to sort everything into one neat little box or the other. It didn’t work that way; trying to force it to made it too easy to act without thinking. Too easy to convince herself she was right. 

 

Ying tipped her head back and sighed. She’d figured out that much, at least, but it now it felt like she was wading through mud, stuck in the morass between where it all bled together. 

 

The creak of the door alerted her that she was no longer alone. She didn’t even need to look up to see who’d joined her. Up here, there was only one person that would. 

 

Hancock sat down beside her. Several minutes passed before he placed a pack of snack cakes in her lap. 

 

“You need to eat, love.”

 

Ying shook her head. “I don’t want to eat.”

 

Cocking one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, Hancock grinned. “And I don’t wanna look this good, but there ain’t any way around it.”

 

In spite of herself, Ying mirrored his expression. She opened the cakes, holding one out to the ghoul. He took it, for no other reason than to humor her, she suspected, and Ying held hers up in a mock toast before taking a bite. He was worried about her, and she hated being the cause. She’d eat a whole damn box of the things if it helped take even a fraction of that away.

 

They ate in companionable silence. When she was through, Ying brushed the crumbs from her hands, and took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something...personal?”

 

Without hesitation, Hancock nodded. “Anything, doll.”

 

Her words were halting and unsure, but she eventually managed to get it all out. 

 

“When you...took this place...from Vic. How - how did you feel...when it was all over?”

 

Hancock turned to look at her, black eyes somber. “It ain’t the same thing. Not really.”

 

“I know,” Ying acknowledged, dropping her gaze into her lap. “Just...tell me anyway?”

 

“Yeah, alright,” he sighed. 

 

“There was a lot goin’ on, but mostly? Just...relief, I guess. No more fear. Folks could just live their lives without always lookin’ over their shoulders, you know? And after that... there wasn’t a whole lot of time to think about it too much after. Mayoral duties and all that.”

 

“Did you want to be mayor?”

 

It was neither here nor there, but she’d always been curious. 

 

“Never really thought about it, to be honest. I wanted people livin’ free. No one else was steppin’ up, so I figured I might as well take the job. Better than leavin’ something like that up in the air. Couldn’t take the chance of some other asshole movin’ in.”

 

Her shoulders hunched, Ying played with the knife, spinning it back and forth. “Yeah, but did you...did you get anything out of killing him?”

 

“You’re askin’ if I liked watchin’ that fucker twitch from the end of a rope?” 

 

Ying swallowed, unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered. “That’s what I’m asking.”

 

His hands framed her face, his thumb gently tipping her chin up. “Hey. Look at me, doll.” When she did, his gaze was soft. “Yes,” he said simply. “It was a long time comin’. Felt good to see that asshole finally get what he deserved.”

 

Hancock stroked her cheek, his eyes searching hers. “Look, doll. I’m the last guy you should be askin’ about morality and all that shit. I think the world’s better off without certain people in it. I dunno if that’s the ‘right’ call or not; I’m not gonna pretend I’ve got it all figured out. But that’s the one I can live with. You gotta make the ones  _ you  _ can live with.”

 

“I’m not even sure what that is anymore.” Ying tapped her temple with her index finger and said quietly, “Sometimes, it feels like he’s still in here. Some of the stuff he said...he wasn’t exactly wrong.”

 

“That don’t make him right,” Hancock growled.

 

“I know. I just…” Ying shrugged, chewing on her thumbnail as she tried to think of a way to explain. 

 

“I told you about the commandant, how I killed him. But the thing is...he never really  _ left _ . I killed him and that should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t, and there was nothing else I could do. I’d made him untouchable. And everyone after - Kellogg, Sinjin, Pickman...I’m not saying they didn’t need to be dealt with, but, in a way, it had nothing to do with them at all. It’s like a part of me was trying to kill  _ him  _ all over again.”

 

Letting out a bitter laugh, Ying shook her head, eyes down. “I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“Nah, it makes sense.” Glancing up in surprise, Ying caught the quick grin that quirked one side of his mouth before he said gently, “Got my share of ghosts, doll. Killin’ Finn was about more than just makin’ a point, even if one did need to be made.”

 

“I think that’s what Pickman was trying to do with the raiders.  It...it scares me, John.”

 

Hancock tipped his head against Ying’s and took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “I think it’s supposed to,” the ghoul sighed. “The trouble comes when it stops scarin’ you. Before you got here, some of the calls I made...well, let’s just say they were gettin’ a little  _ too  _ easy to live with. That’s why I left with you.”

 

“So...you’re saying I make your life difficult?” Ying asked, feigning offense. 

 

“From the second you walked through the gate,” the ghoul laughed, rubbing his cheek against her hair. “Told you, love, you’re my kind of trouble.”

 

Ying dipped her head, the spill of her hair half hiding the slow smile that spread across her face. At least that much hadn’t changed. 

 

In a lot of ways, it felt like the world had shifted upside down and she’d been left dangling over a chasm, scrabbling for an anchor. Looking down at their linked hands, Ying realized it had been right in front of her the entire time. For all he’d said and done, Pickman hadn’t been able to take that away. 

 

He’d told her Hancock would never understand, and the fearful little voice that lived in the darkest parts of her mind insisted it was true. How could he? But somehow, he did. He knew what she was talking about, and he actually  _ got  _ it. She could step out into that mire of mud and know with absolute certainty that she wouldn’t have to find her way alone. 

 

In some ways, Pickman was right when he said he knew her, but John knew her, too. The whole package, good and bad. And despite all that, he’d still taken her hand in his.

 

Hancock’s lips brushed her temple, a worried crease forming between his brows. “Hey. You alright?”

 

“No,” Ying answered truthfully, laying her head on his shoulder. “But I will be.” 


End file.
